


Potter, Ponds and a Winchester.

by Kiki78



Series: A Potter through Time and Space. [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Cute kids are cute, Deatheaters are bad guys, Flagstaff Arizona, Gen, Harry is seven, Harry should also know better, It's 1992, Looping time lines, River Song can walk off with a kid too, River Song takes the Tardis, Sam Winchester should know better, Tardis takes things into her own hands, Time Travel, Too many Doctors, Too much time travel, Whats with the owl?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki78/pseuds/Kiki78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing can go wrong with this idea. Dropping an untrained wizard next to a Hunter's son is great! River Song leaves seven-year old Harry Potter with a nine-year old Sam Winchester in Flagstaff, Arizona. What's there not to like about this plan?</p><p>Spoilers for Doctor Who abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Harry met Sam, round one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this party started right!!! Stealing an untrained wizard and having the son of a hunter babysit... it's all in a day's work for River Song.

It was during the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire that a seven year old Harry Potter went missing from Satellite Five.

Obediently, Harry had stayed by Rose's side in the food court and happily ate some chips and meat on a stick (the latter of which Harry would never be able to properly identify) that he'd paid for with a credit stick. They’d met Adam Mitchell in 2012, and now Rose was paying more attention to Adam than Harry. Not that Harry minded that he wasn’t receiving attention from Rose. For years Harry had been neglected by his Aunt and Uncle and had been more than used to fending for himself. Now for the most part the Doctor, a man who didn’t mind being that Harry had taken to calling him _Dad_ , made sure that Harry was well cared for…and when Dad and Rose weren’t there, there was the Tardis. 

Dad wandered off. 

Rose wandered off. 

Adam wandered off. 

Harry was the only one who didn’t wander off. Silently, Harry stayed that he table he’d sat down at, pensively chewing on a chip. Maybe the rule about not wandering off was like the one about the Doctor lying, which wasn’t something that always happened, so not always applicable? That quasi-explanation made sense to Harry. Then again, Harry believed in following rules. Rules were something that could be counted on. 

The waste from Harry’s lunch was carefully gathered and thrown in a nearby rubbish bin. Then the credit stick used was stowed in Harry’s back pocket. Instead of wandering off like he really wanted to do, Harry went back to the safety of the Tardis. It was the most reasonable option. 

Because the Doctor lied, the Tardis was and wasn’t locked. Rose thought that a key was needed to get inside, and she’d told Adam the same lie she’d been given by the Doctor. Harry knew that the Tardis knew him, and if she wanted, would always be open for Harry to enter. Everyone else needed a key, sometimes even the Doctor. Harry simply knocked at the painted blue wooden door, and following the written instructions, Harry pulled the door open to enter. 

“Have you ever seen how beautiful Flagstaff Arizona is?” A woman with a wild lion’s mane of curly golden hair was at the central console. Moments before this unknown woman began flipping switches, she gave Harry a knowing and wicked smile. “I think it’s about time you did. My name is River Song. Call me River.” 

The Tardis didn’t lurch into motion as it always did, throwing itself wildly and thrashing around like a shoe tossed into the wash. If it hadn’t been for the thrum of the engine, Harry would have sworn they hadn’t moved at all. Still, Harry braced himself against one of the columns for support. “Who are you?” 

“Sweetie, I just told you.” River’s smile, much like the infectious one the Doctor did his best to wear around young Harry, didn’t falter. Headed towards the door, she swaggered past Harry. Harry took note of the weapon holstered on her thigh. “And, unlike your Dad, who never bothered to read the bloody manual, I actually _can_ properly fly this old girl. At some point, you might want to read the manual, it’s under the dash. Can’t say I fancy the coral desktop theme, though. It needs more round things.” 

Harry watched as the doors were thrown open, and on the other side was a lush green forest instead of the cold metal and concrete of Satellite Five. Even Harry had to admit the thought to run out and play in the sun and grass and climb trees was highly tempting. 

Without any hesitation, River stepped outside and patted the Tardis’s door. “Harry, you know that this old girl would never have let me in unless she knew and trusted me. So come along. Flagstaff, summer…and fun.” 

“But Dad, Rose and Adam need the Tardis to get off the Satellite,” Harry stammered uncertainly. He still came a few steps closer to the Tardis door. “If it’s here, aren’t they stuck in the year 200,000?” 

“Tardis has a fast-return switch. She’ll go back to the last place she was, within a few seconds, when it’s activated. As long as we don’t keep you here for too long, your dad won’t know that you went anywhere, unless you tell him.” The woman--wait, her name was River-- peeked back into the Tardis and winked. “Besides, I brought you here to meet someone.” 

Meet someone? Harry thought on that for a moment, then tentatively asked, “ _When_ are we?” It was a logical and familiar question. 

“It’s 1992. Not one of my favorites, pretty boring to be honest. It’s nothing like 1969. There’s nothing like leaping off an unfinished skyscraper, talk about a _rush_. Now come, come.” 

Harry sighed, looked around a bit, then removed the credit stick from his back pocket. He fiddled with the stick for another moment, still debating his options. There was, according to River, a manual for the Tardis under the dash. If Harry really wanted to, he could always shut the door, but the Tardis had _let_ River _in_ , so he figured that the Tardis didn’t think this lady was a threat. That was good. Harry put the credit stick on the Tardis console, then gave the panel a caring pat. “River is okay, right?” The hum from the Tardis’s engines all but purred contentedly. Mobile phone pocketed, Harry made his way towards the door. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Having subsided on nothing Dr. Pibb and Funyuns for the past week, Sam whined about his stomachache to no one in particular other than his dog. A noise outside got his attention. Sam crept over to the window, and peeked out through a vaguely sheer but definitively dirty curtain. 

A woman with wild, curly, blonde hair was walking out of the woods and headed straight for his front door. Strapped to her upper thigh was a large holstered gun. Everything about this lady reminded Sammy about his dad. The dark-haired kid behind her however… The woman adjusted her leather jacket before reaching up and banging on the door. She hit the wood hard enough to make the door and frame rattle. “Sam Winchester, c’mon kid, I know you’re in there.” 

Shit! Sam froze in place. For a moment, Sam barely even heard the dog happily barking at the door. 

“Winchester, either you get your arse out here or I call the authorities about a minor living alone.” The woman slammed her fist against the door again. “And I’m bloody well going to stick around to make sure you _are_ picked up.” 

THAT got Sam moving. He was trying to figure out the accent as he opened the door a crack just wide enough to glare at the lady. Bones, his dog, was still barking. “You talk funny.” 

“I’m British. Mostly.” 

“How can you be _mostly_ British?” the young boy behind the _mostly_ British woman asked innocently. 

“Spoilers, little Harry. Spoilers.” Turning, the woman set her attention back on Sam, a bright smile in place as though she’d never threatened him. “Samuel Winchester, I’ve got a job for you.” 

Sam’s glare didn’t falter in the slightest. Even though he was starting to run low on money, with some three dollars and possibly almost a fourth in change sitting in his back pocket, Sam made sure to keep the door safely between himself and the two strangers. “Who are you? Some kind of freak?” Sam noticed the kid behind her flinch at the word _freak_. 

“The name is River, and I’m the sort of freak that needs a sitter for a few hours.” River held up a pair of fifty dollar bills. Next to her Harry made a high-pitched and indignant sound bordering on fear. “Manage to teach Squeaky here how to rough-house a wee bit, I toss in another bill.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

“So, your mom’s really weird.” With a hundred and fifty dollars at stake, no way was Sam going to let this job walk away. All he was being asked to do was watch this kid, Harry, and maybe, just _maybe,/i > show the kid to throw a punch. Sam reached down and absentmindedly petted Bones. Since it was turning out to be a pretty nice day, Sam had decided to stick around outside. _

“You mean River?” Harry shook his head. “She’s not my mum. River’s a friend of my dad.” 

Sam looked down at Bones, then back at Harry. “Oh. You also _mostly_ British like her?” 

“I think I’m full Brit. Mum’s got family in Surrey and Dad says my father’s family was from Godric’s Hollow.” Harry’s bright green eyes remained cast down. “What about you? American?” 

“Um, yeah. Kansas.” Studying the younger boy for a bit, Sam stayed silent for a while just watching. Okay, the British kid wasn’t doing anything. The quiet was a little stifling. They had to do something, anything. If they were stuck together, maybe at least they could watch TV? 

Sam thought about the money in his back pocket. Wait, did taking the extra fifty dollars mean he _had_ to rough-house with the kid? No TV then. “You know anything about, um, fighting?” 

Harry shook his head. “I know it hurts when people hit me and I get in trouble if I hit back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Finally got the beta'd version of this chapter up. Major *HEARTS* out to Lunarennui for going through my digital chicken-scratch and making sense of some of the stuff I write. Seriously, I've had times where she's come back and asked how asleep I REALLY was when I wrote a particular piece...


	2. Amy and Rory meet Harry and Sam.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Sam Winchester has no reason to NOT trust strangers. I'm beginning to think that the only reason he hasn't been kidnapped by now is because Dean has been awesome about keeping track of him. Whatever happened to 'Stranger Danger'?
> 
> Amy and Rory show up. Just like River Song, Amy and Rory can walk off with kids. I think it's genetic.

It was the car driving up to the small cabin at dusk that made Sam uneasy. River hadn’t driven Harry here, neither had she driven away, so good chance the crazy lady with money didn’t have a car. Sam ushered Harry into the cabin. Back at his look-out from the dirty window, Sam kept an eye on the car. They’d been playing for most of the day, and Sam found that despite a few quirks, Harry was pretty fun to have around.

Two people, a driver and passenger. Driver was a woman with long red hair and a round face. Passenger was a simple-looking guy with a large nose. Sam didn’t know what to make of them. Neither of them was River, and from what Harry had said, they sure as hell weren’t Harry’s folks. 

The car rumbled to a stop, dust swirling in the evening light. Inside the vehicle the couple were nattering back and forth over a map before they got out. 

“Harry?” The woman called out. Her hand raised to shield her eyes from the setting sun. “Husband, you sure this is where River said she left him?” 

The map came out again, smoothed out across the car hood. “Pretty sure. We took a left at the fork, and a right at the sign.” 

Even from the distance, Sam thought their accents sounded an awful lot like Harry’s did. 

“Well, let’s try this again.” The lady leveled her gaze with the window where Sam was peeking out. “Harry, we travel with the Doctor! Come on, kiddo. There’s supplies in the trunk, and I’m not sure the ice lollies will survive long enough to get back to our cabin. 

“Bring your little friend too. River said there’s two of you in there that need some serious mothering, and I’ve definite plans to play a mother for the next couple of days.” 

Harry crept up next to Sam and peeked out as well. “You know them?” Sam asked, hazel eyes narrowing when Harry shook his head. 

“But my dad’s the Doctor. They could be his friends. He’s got loads.” Harry whispered back. A chain was on the door. The small boy went to the door and opened it a crack. “In a blue box, what’s next to the library?” 

That question brought the woman close to the door. She knelt down, eye-level with Harry, a broad smile on her friendly face. “Trick question. That silly old box likes to change things up to be funny. Normally it’s a pool, but sometimes it’s a sauna. I’m Amy, that’s Rory. 

“We good? You going to get your butt out here so I can shove home-cooked meals in ya, and then hit you with a bedtime and read all sorts of silly stories...and generally be all motherly towards ya?” Amy’s smile broadened even further. “Oh my goodness! Lookit you! River didn’t say you’d be so tiny!” 

Excitedly, Amy turned back to her husband, nearly bouncing. “Harry’s just a wee slip of a thing! Rory, come look, he’s simply precious!” 

Inside the cabin, Sam gave Harry an inquisitive look and wondered what in the hell he’d gotten himself into. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Twenty minutes later, Sam was wondering even more what he’d gotten himself into. He was in the car. He made a mental note that it was a station wagon, not a car. The back was filled to the brim with shopping bags, some from the convenience store about two miles down the road, and piles of others were from a variety of different stores, none of which Sam was familiar with. These people were very confusing. 

All but dancing between Sam and Harry was Bones. The two boys did their best to keep the dog calm and not distract the driver, who was currently Rory. 

The entire situation seemed too weirdly normal. In the front seat, Amy and Rory bickered good-naturedly about stupid things, like what music to listen to for the short ride. Rory had even made it a point to let Sam know that if at any time he wanted to return to the previous cabin, neither he nor his wife would be insulted and would happily drive him and Bones back. Though if he didn’t, Sam was informed that there was a set of bunk-beds at the cabin. Harry offered Sam the top bunk. 

Sam managed to find out that Amy and Rory were both from a place called Leadworth in England. Rory was a nurse, and Amy laughed stating that Rory tended to be a bit over-zealous when it came to making sure they were safe from the scourge of cuts, bruises, bacteria and virii. When Sam gave Rory a questioning look at the odd word, Amy was happy to chime in that the plural for virus wasn’t necessarily _viruses_ but _virii_. Sam chalked the apparent snobbishness of their lingo up to the fact that Amy and Rory were British. It went with the accent, for sure. There was apparently a more than ample first-aid kit in the trunk, and a small one in the glove compartment…and another under the front seat. 

“Well, I’m not sorry; I tend to collect medical kits whenever we travel. Better to have an extra kit than be left wanting. They are dead useful. If I hadn’t had an ice patch with me when that…Solomon...had my dad shot, the entire situation might have ended a lot more poorly than it did.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

Sam figured that going along with the British people might not be such a bad thing. Settling into Amy and Rory’s cabin was a unique experience. Once the shopping bags were brought in, and wow did that take a long time, the two adults started finding ‘homes’ for everything purchased (which somehow took less time than unloading the car--no, station wagon--had). Thankfully, the cabin was already furnished. 

“Right,” Rory held a set of twin sheets still in their packaging. On the sofa was a set of pillows. Like the sheets, these still sported their plastic wrap. “So, you boys want to go and make your beds?” The man gestured towards one of the rooms, presumably the one with bunk beds in it, before handing the bed sheets over. “Ames and I will set to work on dinner while you two are in there. Sound good?” 

In the cabin where he’d been squatting, Sam hadn’t even bothered with the bed, instead opting to sleep on the worn sofa with a blanket stolen from a neighbor. These were brand new. For the life of him, Sam couldn’t remember any time he’d ever slept on completely new sheets. “Yeh… yeah! Sounds great!” Gathering up the sheets and pillows with Harry, the two boys disappeared into the bedroom. 

Just as promised, there was a set of bunkbeds up against the wall. In Sam’s opinion, they looked like they might just be the comfiest beds ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another beta'd chapter.


	3. Settling in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy reaches out to touch someone while Rory readies the homestead.... and everyone settles down for dinner. Quite normal and sweet.

“Oh, wife...” Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Rory had several Sharpies and a couple of throw rugs in front of him. A ratty notebook, open to a drawing of a protective sigil with several notes jotted down in River Song’s writing, lay to the side. “Why am I drawing strange circles on the underside of rugs and leaving 26oz. containers of iodized salt next to windows and doors?”

From where she was cooking, Amy didn’t even bother to glance back over her shoulder at her husband. “Because River asked us to.” Rory looked at his wife’s back. “Sam Winchester is here, River said that there are some big nasties after him. If we want him to feel comfortable and safe till he wants to go back to his own family, then we’ve got to put in an effort to understand _hunter_ culture and adapt accordingly.” 

Now Amy turned, wooden spoon in hand, and leaned back against the counter. Mischievously, Amy wiggled her eyebrows at Rory. “Personally, I think those circles look like the stuff that was carved into the Pandorica.” 

Rory allowed himself to collapse backwards, and sprawled on the floor with a sigh. “Right. Remind me later to thank River for that file she left.” 

Outside, Bones ran around the property like the happy dog he was. 

\---------------------------------------- 

With the beds made, Sam relished the feel of brand new bedding. It really was a different sensation from living day to day, motel to motel. Sam had taken Harry up on getting the top bunk. If there was such a thing as heaven, Sam was sure he was in it right now. 

For his part, Harry was investigating the rest of the room. There was a small closet with three hangers and a shelf. Across from the bed was a dresser. Opposite the door was a large window, no curtains hanging from the set of curtain rods. Nothing under the bed except some dust. The plastic bags that had once been the packaging for the sheets were balled together and now sat on top of the dresser. 

A knock at the door pulled Sam from his reverie, and a small yelp from Harry. Rory stood in the doorway, a bundle under his arm. “Sorry for the intrusion, boys. Dinner is nearly ready, but here’s a few last things you might like.” 

The bundle was set down on the dresser. Curtains appeared, and were put up. “Tomorrow might be a good day to clean,” Rory said absently, while adjusting the curtain around a dirty window. 

Next item from the bundle was a small but shaggy rug. Sam noticed that Rory intentionally made certain that he’d seen the bottom, and the circle drawn there in what Sam assumed was permanent marker. 

“Harry,” Rory sat on the edge of the lower bed next to Harry, in his lap two bits of folded fabric. “River said you get really bad nightmares. She suggested we put curtains up around your bed specifically to help. So, you’ve three options. Normal panels that will let in some light but won’t be as warm, black-out ones that may be hot but won’t let any light in…or we can try a night without these panels and see how that turns out.” 

Sam leaned over the side of the top bunk, and pointed at one of the curtains with a celestial patterns in Rory’s lap. He figured it was the normal set. If the kid has problems sleeping, Sam wasn’t going to make him tough it out. “Dude, go with those. Stars and suns, they look cool. You’ll have your own fort.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

It was on the list of things to do that River had given them. Amy stood stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce, slowly mixing in seasonings as she waited for the person she was ringing to pick up. Another decade or two, she'd have simply sent a text, but the early nineties were not known for their technological advancements. Mobile phones existed, but those were few, far in between, expensive and the size (and shape) of bricks; the mobile in her hand probably would be worth a small fortune if Amy were willing to let future technology loose into the past. Which was why it stayed out of sight most of the time. 

"Hullo, this is Red Rock Motel, right?" Amy asked when the line was picked up. She nodded when the response was a rather gruff affirmative. "Wonderful. A friend of mine checked-in about a week or so ago to room 204. Would it be too much of a problem to slip a little note under his door for me? I just wanted to let him to know that Sammy's been picked up without any problems and is such a sweetie that he's already making a little friend. Thank you." 

With that out of the way, Amy brought out dishes and flatware. By the time Rory had finished corralling Sam and Harry into getting washed up for dinner, the table had been set and their meal laid out. 

"How'd you meet Dad?" Harry asked during dinner as he munched on a buttered roll. 

"I was about seven, and was praying to Santa Claus for some help because I thought a crack in my wall was going to eat me." Amy laughed. "As luck would have it, your dad promptly crashes into my shed. I see a large lit sign saying _Police_ , naively think help has arrived and that maybe Santa isn't quite as rubbish as I originally thought." 

"You prayed to Santa?" Sam twirled a forkful of spaghetti on his plate. 

"Why not? Seems like the more logical person to pray to. At least Santa leaves a satsuma in my stocking at Christmas time instead of telling me to bugger off and wait." 

"Yet, someone did bugger off and made you wait," Rory pointed out to his wife. "Twelve years. When he came back, you hit him in the head with a cricket bat and handcuffed him to a radiator." 

"Of course. Some raggedy stranger comes bursting in unannounced and starts flapping around yelling that I need to get out of my own home? He's lucky I only took one swing." 

Once dinner was finished, and the dishes dealt with, Sam and Harry were set down in front of a TV with a bowl of popcorn. Amy and Rory promised that the next night, the boys could chose their own movies... But for this night they'd be watching _'Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure'_. 

From the corner of his eye, while watching the movie, Sam noticed Amy puttering around the kitchen. It took him a bit to finally realize exactly _what_ Amy was doing. A set of bowls were ‘sacrificed’ along with a package of now cooked ground beef. Bones, Sam’s dog, was being fed for the night. It was probably the best meal that dog had had in a long time. Hell, Sam knew that the meal _he’d_ eaten tonight was also one of the best that he’d been able to eat in far too long. 

It wasn’t till Sam wandered into the kitchen after the movie and saw Amy cleaning up a second time that he realized how far above and beyond the call of duty she’d gone just to feed his _dog_. Sam had thought about putting some of his dinner aside, but Amy had told him to eat up and not worry. She’d told him that there was food for Bones, and Sam had smelled the beef, true, but Amy was putting away far _more_ than _just_ (‘Just’, he thought? When did beef become a ‘just’?) ground beef. She was putting eggs and rice away, and Bones’ tail was a blissful wagging blur as he devoured his homemade doggie chow. 

“Amy?” Sam started to help with the dishes left in the sink, the ones obviously used to make his dog’s dinner. “You _cooked_ for Bones?” 

“Aye. Not like I could leave him hungry. Besides, he’s a sweet thing.” Amy wrinkled her nose as the dog started lapping up water and making a mess in the process. 

The thought of someone _cooking_ for a dog boggled Sam’s brain. Not just that it involved cooking, but Bones probably just ate better in one night than he and his own brother Dean ate in a week! The only thing missing was vegetables…wait, Sam just noticed the remnants of those on a cutting board. “No, I mean…you _cooked_ for Bones. I mean, like, real _food_ food.” 

Amy looked a little confused at the statement. “I made sure that the majority of Bones’ meal was beef. The eggs are for an extra boost of protein, and the rice to soothe any digestive issues he might have…and the broccoli was pureed so he can digest it properly.” 

Sam stared at her. 

“Um, we’ll pick up some commercial dog food tomorrow?” 

\---------------------------------------- 

Normally a deep sleeper, Sam still woke easily enough due to the unusually more than unusual surroundings. If his father or Dean had been there, Sam figured that he probably wouldn't have stirred in the slightest. In the bunk below, Harry tossed and turned in his sleep. Nightmares, Sam thought, Rory had said that Harry was prone to nightmares. Bad ones. 

Sam climbed down from the top bunk. When Sam had tried to go to bed in his jeans, Amy had tutted over the fact that those jeans were in her opinion dirty enough to stand on their own. But the woman had relented when Sam clutched his waistband--enough weird stuff was happening, she was going to take his _clothes_ now?-- and said that the next day they would go and buy clothes. Then she read some silly story about wizards and a hopping cauldron. Harry had listened, half-fascinated, half-frightened. Sam thought it was dumb. Somehow it had felt...kind of nice, at the same time. 

On the floor near the head of the bed was a flashlight. Sam grabbed it and Amy's book which had been left on the dresser. _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. It struck Sam as a strange name. Then again, it wasn't like he or Dean had ever read many normal fairy tales…or any fairy tales at all. The celestial curtains around Harry's bed were slipped open, and Sam tried to rouse Harry enough to pull the boy from his nightmare but not completely wake him. 

In order to soothe the younger boy, Sam settled in and started reading from the book. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Sam woke the next morning to find Harry still asleep and snuggled up against him. The smaller boy was calm and peaceful; there was no sign of the turbulent nightmares that had tormented Harry the previous night. The thought of staying in bed and not bothering to get up was sorely tempting. Between him and and his own older brother, Dean was always cast in the role of _protector_ , but Sam found that he didn’t mind one bit being the one doing the protecting for once. It felt better than Sam could ever have imagined. What finally pulled Sam from bed was the call of nature. 

Stumbling into the bathroom, Sam caught the scent of breakfast being made, and his stomach rumbled. Dinner last night had been pretty good, though Amy had apologised for it not being very imaginative. Sam hadn’t minded one bit. Homemade food was still _homemade_ food. Any time he’d been able to not have to eat either take-out, delivery, anything made at the side of the road, that came out of a can or was instant-anything was considered a rare delicacy to be treasured. Then again, anything that might resemble the dinner _his dog_ was fed also fell into the _awesome_ category. 

"Sam," Rory called out from the kitchen, where he was presumably the one cooking, "when you can, do me a favor and wake Harry for breakfast...Amy's got it in her head that we need to go see the Grand Canyon after clothes shopping today. It's about a two to three hour drive, so... Just fair warning that this is coming up unless you or Harry can convince her otherwise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 05-09-15 -- updated chapter. New beta version. Anything regarding the dog was added. <3


	4. Taking care of business.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More cute fluffyness... and understanding Amy is understanding.

Harry had seemed almost put out that he hadn’t been able to help in the kitchen with preparing breakfast. The boy was somewhat mollified by Rory promising to let him help with the dishes afterwards. Sam was a little disconcerted by how easily Harry was able to maneuver getting the table set up (with Rory’s help). Something about the scene playing out in front of him...Sam could tell that even if Rory wasn’t insisting on taking the brunt of the work, Harry would have had no issues with getting the table up, the dishes laid out, the breakfast served. There was something more to Rory not wanting Harry to take on too much work…

“Harry, sit,” Rory finally said, taking a stack of dishes from the boy. “Honestly, when I was your age, I was trying to find any excuse to get out of helping in the kitchen.” 

“Actually, when Rory was your age, he could barely boil water!” Amy giggled as she walked into the room. She was already dressed in jeans and a plaid button up shirt layered over a black tank top. A lock of long red hair was tucked up behind her ear. Amy smiled as she took the plates from Harry and gently directed him towards his seat. “Melody and I used to tease him mercilessly.” 

“I ended up taking a class to get them to stop.” Rory gave an indignant sniff. 

Amy finished setting the table. “Didn’a stop us from finding other things to tease Rory about though, did it? Now, tuck in, we’ve a pretty full day ahead of us.” 

Looking over the table in question, Sam didn’t quite know what to make of some of the items there. Sausage, bacon and eggs, he was familiar enough with and maybe the fried potatoes…but, beans, tomatoes and mushrooms? Next to Sam, Harry was happily piling food onto his own plate. 

“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon used to have fry-ups like this loads of times when I was with them, except sometimes there was also kippers and black pudding,” Harry said as he helped himself to a tomato. 

“Was it any good?” Sam immediately noticed the _look_ that went back and forth between Amy and Rory. Part of Sam wondered if it was because of the sausage he was trying to feed his dog under the table. Tail wagging hard enough to hit the table legs with a loud and repetitive ‘whump’, Bones licked the remaining grease from Sam’s fingertips. 

Harry shook his head pensively and nibbled on a sausage. “They wouldn’t let--” 

“So, Grand Canyon, or lazing about the cabin today?” Unabashedly, Rory interrupted Harry. “I know that I’d like to get in a spot of cleaning. Tidy up a bit. There’s a certain blue box out in the woods that I’d feel better bringing over by the cabin, and something tells me that Harry might appreciate it being brought over as well.” 

“Weary?” Harry’s exclamation was muffled as he tried to speak around a mouthful of breakfast. The boy swallowed, and breathed deeply. A wide grin spread across Harry’s face before he spoke again. “Really? We can bring her here?” 

“Blue box?” Sam asked, remembering the odd question from the other day about a blue box and a library…and the equally odd answer from Amy. 

“Yeah, the Tardis! She’s--” 

Once again, Harry was interrupted. This time by Amy. “I believe that River said the Tardis’s technical specification was a TT Capsule Type 40, Mark 3." 

Rory continued, "There's a spot cleared for her right outside on the patio. She shouldn't be that hard to haul over. An’ yesterday we picked up some tarp to make certain that the old girl stays nice and dry." 

"Can Sam come into the Tardis?" Excitedly, Harry turned to Sam, "You'll love it--" 

"Um, no. That's, er, probably not a good idea..." Rory nearly stammered. 

"What my dear husband means...is that Sam hasn't been invited into to Tardis by your dad. You know your dad. How pleased will he be if you start bringing friends in without asking first?" 

Harry slumped in his seat. "Dad won't like it, not one bit," he said miserably, and turned to his new friend, "Sorry, Sam. It would have been a lot of fun." 

Again, Sam wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into. 

\---------------------------------------- 

They made a quick stop at the cabin where Sam had been squatting for the past week, and what little possessions Sam owned were picked up and packed into Amy’s car. Rory had opted to stay at the other cabin. He said something about going and locating Harry’s blue box in the woods. Not that Sam had much to say in the matter. 

When Amy went through his meager belongings, Sam worried. It wasn’t that long ago that Sam had told his dad that he was afraid of the thing in the closet…and caring parent that John Winchester was, John handed over a .45 for Sam to protect himself with. Part of the Sam was scared that Amy would leave him to his own devices when she encountered a gun; or worse, report him to the authorities. Not that Sam wasn’t able to fend for himself, but being around Harry and the Ponds was nice. For once Sam had the chance to pretend that, maybe, he wasn’t a freak. 

Amy picked up the gun. Even though the safety was on, she made sure to keep her fingers well away from the trigger. The weapon was superficially examined before Amy pressed the button on the handgrip to eject the cartridge. With the cartridge out, she then verified that the chamber was fully unloaded. Satisfied, Amy packed the weapon and ammunition away in separate bags among Sam’s belongings. The bag with the gun itself was handed off to Sam. 

A serious look was given to the now fidgety Sam. “Sam, I’m not going to judge, but please answer honestly. Do you know how to handle a gun like that?” 

Nervously, Sam shook his head. 

Amy nodded, a contemplative expression touched her bright eyes. “If you’d like, Rory and I can teach you the basics. I just ask that for the time being, until you’ve more experience, that gun or any other weapon…for them to only be used under supervision. Sound reasonable?” 

Sam started, hiding it badly. “You’re…you’re not upset?” He almost couldn’t believe his luck. Or was this a bad thing? Weren't people usually upset over stuff like this? Not that Sam was the best judge on the matter, after all, he _knew_ that his dad wasn't really raising him and Dean in the most conventional manner…when his dad was around at all, or sober. Other than Sam's time at school, being with Amy, Rory and Harry felt like the most _normal_ experience Sam had ever been privileged to have. 

“Maybe a wee bit concerned, but, upset? No. Monsters aren’t only found in fairy tales and fanciful stories.” Amy shouldered the bag with the ammunition clip in it before kneeling down to eye-level with Sam. “They are out there in the real world. Now, if being armed makes you feel safe from the things that go bump in the night, I’m not going to argue. 

“You will, however, be _smart_ about it. And you’ll learn on something a little smaller. That .45 will kick like an angry mule and break your wrists in the process.” She paused for what felt like eternity. “That is, unless you really are desperate to shoot _**that** specific_ gun.” She shook her head. “We might be able to figure out a work-around that won’t beat you up too badly.” 

Half an hour later, at the nearest department store, the three of them wandered nearly aimlessly through the aisles. Amy had, on a lark, grabbed a set of hats and dropped one on everyone’s heads. Because she was Amy, hers had a wide floppy brim that almost hid the oversized sunglasses now perched on the bridge of her nose, tags still attached. Sam’s eyes were shadowed by a dark fedora, and Harry was nearly drowning in a baseball cap. 

After no more than five minutes into the store, Harry was scooped up and dropped into the shopping cart. When he complained, Amy pointed out that he tended to get tired easily. Plus, she declared, he still had the advantage of being small and looking young enough to be able to ride in the cart without getting dirty looks, so he should take advantage of it while he still could. 

When they passed a display with disposable cameras, Amy grabbed several and tossed them into the cart. A threat about scrap-booking was made even before the cameras managed to clatter to the bottom of the cart. Harry nervously moved them away from his bum. Last thing he wanted was to accidentally sit on the cameras and have a picture of his bum taken, or worse, break them. Though it took him a bit to contemplate which would really be worse. 

Once in the boys clothing section, Amy flagged down a salesclerk and lied through her teeth about being Harry and Sam’s aunt. The lie continued with claiming that the airlines had lost both Harry and Sam’s luggage…so, they needed basically everything for a comfortable vacation before everyone had to return to their normal lives. Yes, they did have access to laundry services, so it wasn’t a case of requiring an exceedingly large amount of clothes for the boys. Jeans, shirts, socks and pants would be fine. 

Sam was thoroughly in shock as he was bundled into the changing room and clothes were shoved at him through the curtain that served as a door. The price tags on the t-shirts alone made him blanch. Even the cheapest one at around seven dollars was worlds more expensive than what Sam was used to. Normally what his dad did was drag him and Dean into a Salvation Army or any other second-hand store for their clothes. Seven dollars could cover new-ish clothes for both him _and_ Dean…and sometimes there was enough left over for a candy bar if they were really lucky and Dad was in a good mood (or already drunk at the time). It almost felt like a waste to spend that much on just _one_ shirt. “Um, Amy?” 

“Just a warning, Sam, if you complain about price, I’m just going to buy you more clothes.” Amy laughed. “Now, once you’re dressed, come on out and let’s see how the clothes fit.” 

That…was definitely a strange way of heading off an argument. Sam was left dumbfounded. Keeping his mouth shut, Sam pulled on a set of jeans and an oversized shirt with a Nike Swoosh emblazoned across it before stepping out of the changing room. The hat was left behind on the small bench with Sam’s old clothes. At the entrance to the changing rooms, there was a set of large mirrors where Amy turned Harry to and fro, tugging at the hem of the shirt Harry was trying on. Harry it seemed, didn’t have any hang-ups over being treated like a dress-up doll, though his expression was still one of awe over being fussed over. 

“Go try on the green shirt, it’ll bring out your eyes,” Amy said, sending Harry back to the changing room. “Such a shame. He really does look good in green.” Shaking her head, Amy smiled brightly at Sam. “Trust me, Sammy, a day is coming when Harry will flat out refuse to willingly wear green _and_ silver.” 

For a moment Sam wondered what that was about. After all, he had to agree, green just suited Harry. He forgot when Amy turned and started fussing over him, and the fit of his clothes. 

Sam really had to wonder, was this what it would have been like if his own mom hadn’t died? Was this what it was like to _have_ a mom? The closest Sam had ever come to feeling like this, ever, was when Dean was there; watching over him. 

It felt strange...and comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta updates... seriously, I should never be allowed to post without my trusty beta. She fixes my sometimes very questionable english skillzors! <3
> 
> \---
> 
> 05-09-15 - new update to the chapter. Just a few details filled out.


	5. Firing Squad!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More saccharine sweetness... and guns. Best combination EVER!

Sprawled across the backseat, Harry slept most of the drive back to the cabin. Among the various item purchased, there had been a gun case _and_ cleaning kit for Sam, plus extra ammunition and an abundance of paper targets. Sam had been very amused when Amy picked up a very non-lethal looking BB gun for Harry. It was bright blue and very obviously a toy. Amy pointed out, undoubtedly correctly, that Harry would probably try to join in the target practice. The BB gun was a fair compromise. The toy swords, however...were just weird.

Lunch was nearly finished by the time Amy and the boys walked in, their arms laden with even _more_ shopping bags. Sam wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen (let alone carried) as many shopping bags in his whole life as he’d seen in the last two days. Just opening up so many brand new packages was a new experience in of itself. Rory was quick to take the bags from Amy and indicated to the boys that their bags should go on the sofa while they ate. Amy, with an amused chuckle and a wink, assured Sam that he’d be the one to remove the tags from his own clothes…preferably with scissors, not just ripping them off and accidentally leaving a tiny hole. 

Everybody helped, and tomato soup, sandwiches, and pasta salad were toted on out to a picnic table. Sam noticed again that Harry kept trying to carry more than he should until Rory or Amy took it away from him and shooed him off to the table. It was a nice day for an outdoor lunch. To encourage Sam to _stop_ feeding the dog under the table, even Bones’ new food and water dish were set up with a small tinned lunch, though Amy tutted over the nutritional contents. Sam wasn’t about to ask her to make another meal for Bones even if she _did_ insist that she could do better and quickly whip it up. And since the picnic was so nice, even Amy settled in to enjoy it after her token complaints. Sam couldn’t understand why she was complaining at _all_. 

Just off to the side of the patio was a large blue wooden box, safely tucked under a plastic tarp. 

"Sammy," Amy called Sam's attention as he tried peeking under the tarp. "Please... just--leave it be." 

"What is it?" The box was important, that much Sam could tell. What scared him was the thought that this might be the sort of thing his dad might want to look into. 

The underlying question was apparent. So that was what Amy answered instead. "It's called the Tardis. She's not dangerous. Quite the opposite. In fact, the Tardis is one of the safest places that I know of." 

Sam released his hold on the tarp allowing the bright blue plastic to fall back into place obscuring painted wood. " _What_ is it?" 

Amy rewarded his inquisitive nature with one of her best and brightest mischievous smiles. "Spoilers." 

It wasn’t the last time that Sam would hear _that_ as a response to a question. It also wouldn't be the last time that it annoyed the hell out of him. 

\---------------------------------------- 

After lunch, while Rory and Harry played outside with the toy swords, Amy presented Sam with a set of scissors. It was time to clip the tags off the clothes. Secretly, Sam wanted to keep the tags ON as proof he now had NICE clothes and not something rummaged out of a fifty cent bin at Salvation Army. All it took was one knowing look from Amy, and she brought over a ZipLock bag from the kitchen. “I won’t ask. We all have our hang-ups.” 

The bag was handed over to Sam, and all the tags from his new clothes were stored for safe-keeping in his new gun case. No questions asked. 

Tags clipped from the clothes, Amy neatly and quietly folded everything, setting them into stacks. One clothing stack was handed to Sam, and Amy carried the rest into the bedroom to be put away. As the clothes went into the drawers, Sam couldn't help but _feel_ the difference between this, and just cramming quasi-clean clothes into a bag. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Over the next couple of days, Sam learned that Amy was quite serious about him learning to properly use and maintain the .45 his father had given him. In the morning after a full breakfast, which Rory reluctantly would allow Harry to help out on, Sam, Harry and Rory would go outside for target practice. The first time, Amy had come along. 

That day, even though Amy and Rory both tutted over his stance, Sam tried imitating the _‘cool’_ stance that he’d seen in late night movies with Dean. Rory suggested, and even demonstrated, a safer stance, one that braced the gun. Ignoring the advice, Sam lined up his shot. Arm extended, he turned his gun sideways and took aim. It was bad-ass and gangsta…right up until the point when the recoil sent the .45 flying back into Sam's face. The boy's wrist was painfully wrenched out of place. Blood gushed from where the fragile cartilage of his nose was broken, and dribbled down onto Sam's shirt collar. Pain emanated from Sam's face, wrist and elbow. If he could have thought coherently, it would be debatable over which was worse. For the moment, face was winning out, for the most part because it was his face, and currently producing a steady and heavy stream of blood. Adding insult to injury, in the distance, Sam's target remained untouched. The only evidence that the gun had even been fired was a small puff of dust floating on the breeze some several feet to the left of the intended and completely untouched target. 

Normally a casing would eject out horizontally, but with the tilt of the gun, this particular casing went almost straight up. Sam yelped again once the ejected casing finally came down and bounced off the top of his head. If Sam could have used his nose for its intended purpose, he'd have detected the subtle scent of singed hair. 

Back at the cabin, tethered on a leash for his own safety, Bones barked excitedly at the sound of gunfire. 

So far the only bright spot of the entire incident was that the gun's hammer only left a large scratch across Sam's right cheek instead of taking his eye out. 

"Now that that's out of your system... Something tells me you won't do it again. Husband, care to step up?" The fact that there was now blood gushing from Sam's face didn't seem to phase Amy in the slightest. 

All of the inherent awkwardness that seemed to permeate the air around Rory evaporated instantly when he stepped up, gun in hand, ready to shoot his own target. Rory braced himself, one foot slightly ahead of the other, his shooting arm extended, his free arm braced for extra support. With the mark lined up, he fired off several shots in rapid succession. Every bullet found its way to the center of the intended target. Rory’s shoulders jerked only slightly with each recoil. 

"An' that's how it's done weaver style. I'm an isosceles girl myself, but whatever works in a pinch." Amy gave Sam a consoling smile as she helped Harry aim at his target. "You, munchkin...don't have to worry about recoil. As far as I'm concerned, the only thing I want you to concentrate on is aim." 

Face still bleeding, Sam was ushered back into the cabin. Harry tried to follow, but was held back by Amy. By now the tears that Sam had been oh so valiantly but less than successfully attempting to hold back had decided to join the stream of blood that was ruining what had up until this point been one of the nicest t-shirts he'd ever owned. It was the one with the Nike Swoosh. Now it looked more like a Nike Swoosh from a grisly murder scene. The salt from the tears burned when it came into contact with the scratch that ran under Sam's eye. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Rory ran the tap and soaked a tea towel. With freshly washed hands, Rory dabbed carefully at the blood on Sam's face, being cautious around the cut and broken nose. The first aid kit that had been stashed over the sink was pulled out and set on the counter near where Sam had sat down. When the contents were brought out of the kit, and rummaged through by Rory, Sam couldn't even begin pretend to understand what was written on several of the vials and packages. Some of the writing didn't look even remotely like any language Sam had ever seen. But then, he wasn’t seeing things very clearly through the tears anyway, so whatever. He wasn’t a doctor, or a nurse, or anything. But Rory was. 

Rory, having gotten Sam settled, lied through his teeth. "Good news is, nothing seems to be seriously wrong." Broken nose, he thought, and probably a fractured wrist. Right now the _least_ of Sam's problems was the cheek cut, which unless treated _would_ scar. Thankfully, the kit which had been picked up in the Boeshane peninsula from a human colony had some supplies in it that were more than up to the task of repairing one little cut. After all, the inhabitants from Boe were human, just from a slightly different century. "For the cut and bloody nose, which probably looks worse than it is, it just needs a clean up, and a cold compress. 

"Your arm? Feels like strained tendons and bruising." The wince Sam gave when Rory carefully handled the wrist told him that there was _definitely_ a closed fracture. "Which calls for an ice patch to numb the pain, and a brace to immobilize your arm till it feels better. To be on the safe side, I'd really appreciate it if you'd consent to a short course of oral anti-inflammatories to eliminate the potential but minimal risk of internal swelling. Just as a precaution, of course." 

One of Arthur C. Clarke's laws stated that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. This statement applied perfectly to the first aid kits Rory had established as a personal rule to _always and invariably_ pick up while traveling with the Doctor. There were no healing ray guns, or other Star Trek nonsense; even so, Rory had to admit that as far as he was concerned, some if this stuff was pretty darn close to Star Trek level awesomeness. Rory made sure that just now the _less_ alien tech was pulled out, the stuff that could ideally be passed off as foreign medical supplies. If everyone was lucky, they would. If not...there would be too many unwanted questions raised. Fortunately people in pain were less likely to keep a clear memory of what, precisely, was being done to ease said pain. And a young man’s bruised ego often hurt even more than a broken nose. It also helped to be firm and authoritative, Rory had found, and he employed that as often as possible. Why argue with someone when you could just get them patched up? So what if the supplies came from Earth, _New_ Earth, Akhaten, Shrillana, Arcateen V, or the Fifth Moon of Sinda Callesta. As long as it wasn’t like the medicine on Apalapucia intended for someone with a binary cardiovascular system, which Rory was pretty certain Sam did not possess. Rory contemplated whether there was a polite way to inquire whether or not Sam had received all his vaccinations. It didn’t seem like a particularly simple task, and there was enough for Sam to deal with at the moment anyway. 

Rory tore open a sterile plastic packet, and applied the ice pack within to Sam's wrist. The soothing cold immediately began making Sam feel better. As the cool tingling sensation moved upward through Sam's arm, the shooting pain began to subside substantially. Sam would have commented on that had he not had a damp towel pressed gingerly against his face to ebb the flow of blood. 

Next Rory fished out the wrist brace along with a cardboard box and a set of amber colored glass vials. Still, nothing on any of the items gathered had anything vaguely resembling English written on them. Rory made sure to read all directions and possible side effects listed on the packaging. Finished with the selection and application, Rory went to the sink and washed his hands again. He’d done what he could, and the boy was lucky that there’d been...advanced technology (or magic) available. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Wrist bandaged, Sam felt worlds better. The blood on his face washed away. He'd been grateful for the chance to hide his tears. Sam sniffled into the washcloth. Years of being told to _man up and **not** cry_ by his dad were difficult to ignore. It was hard to not cry. 

"Hey, it's okay." Rory fetched a bottle of water from the fridge and picked up a second washcloth. "You should start feeling better soon." 

The water bottle and clean damp washcloth were handed off to Sam, along with a set of pills from the first amber colored vial. Sam nodded his thanks. He didn't trust himself to speak without his voice cracking at the moment. 

“Did you know… crying was once a sign of manliness?” Rory took the bloodied tea towel from Sam and dropped it in the sink. He dabbled a clear viscous gel from the second amber vial onto Sam's cut. 

“Wait, what?” In surprise, Sam nearly spat out his water. Crying was one of the weakest things a guy could do. Like, ever. What the heck was wrong with this guy? 

Rory shrugged awkwardly. “This whole stoic nonsense of _not_ crying is a recent thing. In the 19th century, if a bloke cried it only meant he was honest, had integrity, strength and confidence…nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Even Odysseus from the Odyssey broke down crying. Once was because he heard a lovely song.” He gathered and put away the last of the supplies from the kit, and stored it in a cabinet to the right of the kitchen sink. Rory gave Sam a bright smile. “To be honest, a good cry also helps flush corticotropin from your system, which leads to lower cortisol levels…an’ that makes you feel less stressed." 

Harry ran in, giggling, yelling, and proudly waving his paper target in the air. "SAM!" It didn't take long for Harry to attach himself around Sam's waist, completely ignoring the bloodied shirt, nearly knocking his own glasses off in the process. "Sam," Harry grinned. The target was held so that Sam could finally get a better look at it. "I hit it!" 

True, the target had been hit. Badly. The shots were everywhere--except anywhere near the bullseye. Harry, it turned out, had horrible aim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to have the .45 smash into Sam's face. 
> 
> Originally the scene was much less painful for Sam. I was goofing off and told my father about the scene of eight year old Sam tilting the .45 and shooting it all 'gangsta' style... My father laughed and said that the recoil on a .45 would make the gun fly back into the kid's face, breaking both the nose and arm. Since I am apparently an evil person, I thought that was a GREAT idea.
> 
> The gun's hammer scratch on Sam's cheek was also suggested by _Daddy Dearest_. I wanted to add a little more insult to injury in that scene, and have the salt from Sam's tears cause problems (come on, broken nose AND wrist? Gotta HURT! Even _Mama-Bear-Dean_ would have a few tears!). _Daddy dearest_ pointed out that a broken nose wouldn't fit the bill for that bit of pain (seriously, how are tears going to travel UP Sam's nose?), so the gun's hammer got to scratch poor Sammy up. 
> 
> I am a horrible person. I snickered ALL through that re-write. <3
> 
> \----------
> 
> May 9, 2015 - another edit. A couple of sections were added, older ones were tweaked.


	6. Star Wars, it is Scary!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as Harry's concerned, Star Wars is _SCARY_!!! No joke.

"I'm very sorry to hear that my friend decked you," Amy cringed internally. The poor guy that gave John Winchester the note regarding Sam, had been beaten up. Granted, Amy figured something like that had a good possibility of happening. Her long fingers traced the back of her mobile phone as she spoke to the night clerk of the Red Rock motel. "And used such foul language in regards to your mother..."

In the other room, Sam and Harry were currently engrossed in watching _Star Wars, Episode IV: A New Hope_. Amy could hear the opening theme blaring from the tv's speakers while the opening crawl crept across the screen. 

Not that Amy really wanted to make this call, but she understood the importance of it. She'd lost Melody. The loss of a child wasn't something to be taken lightly. "You think my call could be patched over to his room?" 

Amy waited patiently as the call was connected. While waiting for the motel phone to be picked up, Amy busied herself in the kitchen. Ingredients for chocolate chip cookies were brought out. The first batch would take some fifteen minutes to fully bake, meaning that they would be ready to serve well before the movie finished. Movies and snacks were always a fantastic combination as far as she was concerned. 

The phone rang three times before Amy heard it picked up. A young voice answered, male, he sounded vaguely annoyed yet curious. "Hello?" 

"Hi," Amy chirped pleasantly. "I'm trying to contact John. Something tells me that isn't _you_. I'm guessing _you_ must be... John's older boy, Dean, right?" 

Dean's reply was very much less than polite. 

Amy shouldered her mobile phone and whisked the sugar, eggs, butter and vanilla in a large mixing bowl. "This is a courtesy call. If you are unable to be _courteous_ , I have absolutely no qualms over hanging up this phone right now." 

"No, wait! Fine! I'll be fucking courteous." The sound of anger, desperation, Dean's teeth grinding and a muttered ' _bitch_ ' could almost be heard over the phone connection. "Happy?" 

In a smaller bowl, Amy mixed the flour, baking soda and salt. “Better. As I said, this is a courtesy call to let John know that his boy is doing well. Honestly, Sam is a very smart and delightful child. It makes me wish that we didn’t have to put him back where we found him.” 

There was another fit from the phone. Amy assumed that it was Dean trying not to yell _too_ many profanities at her. “What. The. Fu--” Dean managed to barely control himself. “What. Does. That. Mean?” 

“Hang on just a tick.” The movie wasn’t playing anymore, at least not from what Amy could hear. Amy put the bowl in her hands down and stepped closer to the doorway to peer through. Over the cellphone, Amy could hear Dean take up swearing again, she wondered how a parent could let their kid get a mouth like that. “Boys, everything all right in there? I don’t hear your movie playing…” 

“Harry’s scared of the robots!” Sam announced loudly. He sounded annoyed over Harry’s irrational fear. 

From under the safety of a blanket, Harry yelled back his retort. “Am not!” 

“You’re hiding!” 

“AM NOT!” 

“Sam.” Amy called the older boy’s attention. It was due more to the fact that Harry’s voice had attained that scared eardrum-piercing, high-pitched shrill tone that only dogs and non-parents can hear, which _only_ a small child can achieve moments before breaking into tears, than actual annoyance with the situation that made up Amy’s mind. “A word, please. In here, sweetie, before I start bleeding from my ears.” 

“But I didn’t _**DO** anything_!” 

“An’ I didn’t say ye did, now march yer butt in here.” Amy’s accent was in full force. She pulled the cellphone from her mouth as she yelled loud enough to be heard in the master bedroom, where Rory had been dealing with some paperwork. “ _ **Husband!** Kindly care for the blanket dweller on the sofa…_ ” 

Sam sulked into the kitchen. “I didn’t _do_ anything. S’not my fault that Harry’s scared of the stupid robots in Star Wars.” 

Amy fiddled with the phone a moment. Dean was still on the line, she was certain, there was no way Sam’s brother was going to hang-up. The speakers shut off, Amy placed the unit into speakerphone mode before setting it down on the countertop. Settling herself into a seat, Amy motioned to the one opposite her. “You're absolutely right, Sam, you did nothing wrong." 

“Then why am I--” 

“Sam, you're not in trouble.” Amy picked the large mixing bowl back up and started spooning in the dry ingredients for the cookies. If this was going to take a while, she was darn well going to finish up with the baking. “Just the opposite, in fact. You've no idea how grateful Rory and I are that you took us up on our invite." 

A bag of chocolate chips was nudged towards Sam. Several chips spilled out onto the formica. Sam sighed, a little suspicious, then took one and popped it into his mouth. “Why?" 

"Harry." Amy nodded as she stirred what was rapidly becoming cookie dough. "I'm sure you've noticed some of his... quirks. Like how closely he'll follow you around or how he doesn't seem to understand being teased." 

"Yeah, but he's just a little kid." Sam blinked in confusion. Then he noticed Amy's expression. "Amy, _why_ is Harry like that?" 

"Long story short, Harry lost his real parents when he was about a year old, then got fobbed off on his aunt and uncle to live." The bag of chocolate chips was picked up, a handful handed off to Sam, and the rest of the chips poured into the batter. Amy stirred the batter angrily. "Harry endured five years of verbal and psychological abuse, starvation and neglect while love, adoration and completely undeserved accolades was heaped upon his bully of a cousin... A whale of a boy which, mind you, resented the fact that another child had the audacity to exist in the same home as him." 

"That's... horrible." Sam's eyes widened. "But, Harry's got a father. Harry _talks_ about his dad. It's that _Doctor_ person, right?" 

Balls of chocolate chip batter were dolloped onto a baking sheet. "Yeah, about that. As far as Harry's concerned, _dad_ and _father_ are two completely separate people. The Doctor, the guy Harry calls _dad_? Not really his dad. There's absolutely no relation between them at all. The Doctor works as a private consultant for a high level subdivision of the British military. He sort of threatened to have charges of child neglect and endangerment brought up against Harry's aunt and uncle if they didn't hand Harry over. Risk a humiliating and public scandal with their own son being taken away by the authorities in addition to Harry, or quietly get rid of the kid they never wanted in the first place. Not a hard choice." 

Sam was horrified at the implications of what he was hearing. 

“So, it’s nothing short of a miracle that Harry isn’t a total mess. Personally, I think he’s figuring out how to act like a normal kid by watching you.” Amy admitted while eyeing the cookie dough for a moment. The baking sheet slid into the waiting oven. "Enough of this depressing stuff though. What do you say about switching gears on the movie tonight. Watch _Fox and the Hound_ with Harry, it's cute, short with nauseatingly adorable talking animals and absolutely no scary robots... Once Harry's popped off to bed, you can finish watching _Star Wars_. Sound good?" 

\---------------------------------------- 

With both Sam and Harry back out in the living room, curled up on the sofa, and the new movie playing courtesy of Rory... Amy picked her mobile back up. The handset was taken off speakerphone, and the mute disengaged. She kept a watchful eye on the cookies baking in the oven. "Sorry for the interruption." Amy's voice was bright and cheery as ever. "Tho, now you've been able to hear for yourself that your brother hasn't been harmed and is in good spirits." 

“Lady, I don’t care who you are.” Dean seethed on the other end of the line. “When my dad and I find you… you are fucking dead meat.” 

Right about now Amy was grateful that tracing the call via her mobile phone would be an exercise in futility. The towers and satellites which one could potentially ping and triangulate her position off of didn't yet exist, much less the processing power required to deal with the tracking algorithms. “Dean, love, courtesy.” Amy ended the call. 

The phone was turned off and dropped into the junk drawer that every kitchen inevitably seems to have. 

Almost 130 miles away, in Page, AZ… a thirteen year old Dean Winchester nearly ripped the phone from the motel room wall in a fit of rage when the line went dead. 

\---------------------------------------- 

That night Harry’s nightmares were back with a vengeance. The screaming fit happened so suddenly that Sam never had a chance to even attempt to stave off the worst of it. Harry’s unexpected shrieks were loud enough to bring Amy and Rory rushing into the room. Their eyes bleary from sleep, the couple consoled the openly weeping and hysterical seven year old. 

This was the first time Sam had ever heard about a creature called _Dalek_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the little bit between Harry and Sam was based a bit off of a funny incident between my nephews eons ago... Had nothing to do with movies, but Legos. The entire 'fight' was so weird that I have come to the conclusion that no 'altercation' between kids can have a _bizarre_ enough premise. 
> 
> In all honesty, Harry thinking C3-PO and R2-D2 are scary (r2-d2 looks kinda like a dalek if you squint) makes a LOT more sense than my younger nephew fighting with his older brother because the younger thought the older was cheating at Legos. Yep, read that right. Cheating at _Legos_.


	7. Sedona!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day trip to Sedona! This should be fun! Right? Stuff happens! Encountering another hunter might spell the end of Sammy's fun little vacation with Amy, Rory and his new friend Harry.

It was the middle of the night, and Harry was openly sobbing into the safety of Amy’s embrace. “I dreamed-ed that a Dalek shot an’ killed me like it did those people it killed in Utah! It tried shooting me wif a green laser! Only, I didn’ stay dead an’ it came after my face with that sucker thing it has...

“But I ran. Except it kept yelling _exterminate!_ Then the case opened an’ blew up!” 

Sam poked his head over the side railing to take a better look at Harry. “What happened in Utah?” Sam asked, as his eyes adjusted to the shadowed part of the bed where Amy and Harry were tucked into. Not that Harry could be seen very clearly, hiding as he was at Amy’s side. Rory was also sitting on the edge of the bed, keeping watch and trying to be as comforting as possible to the distraught child. It wasn’t the sort of nightmare that Sam could readily deal with. Monsters weren’t a problem, there was almost always a way to kill those. But what the hell could he suggest about handling a made-up monsters like a Dalek? Sam _really_ hoped that this nightmare wasn’t the result of those two stupid robots from Star Wars. 

“I don’ wanna tink about it.” Harry poked his nose out and sniffled. “A bunch of people died. The Dalek killed them. It almost killed Rose too. Except it extra pollinated her jean material for cellular re combustion. But it started to become human because it fed off of Rose’s DNA an’ hated itself because of that. Because Daleks are Daleks, an’ everything not Dalek gets exterminated.” 

That… didn’t sound like it all came from a dream. The way it was being described, it sounded like something Harry really _had_ encountered. Badly remembered, but _definitely_ encountered. Sam arched an eyebrow. A Dalek was definitely a _thing_. 

Amy interjected before the boy on the top bunk could say anything. “Harry, sweetie, you know, years ago, I got to see schematics for Dalek casing. They’ve got a really big and glaring design flaw.” She squeezed Harry’s shoulders. “They’ve a very limited field of vision. In all that armor, there is only one wee little camera to look through.” 

“Manage to hide from the eyestalk, and you should be okay to find a nice safe hiding spot,” Rory added, “better yet, if possible, run.” 

Run... from a monster. Sam rolled his eyes. What kind of advice was that?! “What about aiming at the eye thing? If a Dalek’s got a limited field of vision, just shoot the eye and blind it. If there isn’t a gun, spray paint the camera, then take the Dalek down.” 

Amy and Rory didn’t bother shooting down Sam’s idea; though, from their expressions, Sam could tell that his seemingly logical approach was something they thought would not work. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Seeing as it was only a couple of hours drive, the next day, Amy decided that a day trip into Sedona would be a perfect opportunity for some fun in the sun. Sedona's red bluffs and desert sandscapes were worlds apart from the lush greenery in Flagstaff. Not to mention the presumed presence of energy vortexes in the area. It was different, kitschy and touristy, which was everything Amy and Rory wanted from the day. 

Tucked away in Amy's oversized floral shoulder bag were several of the disposable cameras. By now at least one camera had already been used and developed, photos of just daily life at the cabin. A set of cameras plus wrist straps were _deployed_ to Sam and Harry, along with spending money for any gift shops they would inevitably encounter. Having stopped specifically in Tlaquepaque for the ambience, shops and photo opportunities would be nothing short of amazing. 

Sam was left nearly in shock when he carefully unfolded the bill that had casually been handed to him for _trinkets_. With as kind and generous as Amy and Rory had been with him, he'd dared hope for _maybe_ a five-spot. That would have been enough for a novelty pencil, some candy and a soda. Instead, Sam found himself staring down at the portrait of Ulysses S. Grant. It wasn't five dollars, Rory had handed Sam a fifty dollar bill. When Sam tried giving the money _back_ to Amy, another twenty was added to the original fifty along with the _threat_ of more money if he kept trying to return it. Sam accidentally ended up with ninety dollars in his back pocket before they even left the parking lot. When Amy pointed out that she could very happily keep peeling bills off, Sam finally stopped protesting. Though something told him that Dean would have kept going. 

No one noticed as across the road a dark skinned man in a well-worn and dusty denim jacket surreptitiously watched, and discretely followed them. 

The day was warm and dry. As a treat, Amy and Rory bought ice cream from a street vendor. Harry’s flavor selection appeared to mirror Sam’s…though, Harry didn’t argue when Amy swapped her chocolate cone for his lemon popsicle. It had been apparent to everyone present that Harry prefered the sweet over tart or savory after a taste from Amy’s chocolate and Rory’s coconut selections. Rory ended up trading his coconut ice-cream cone to Sam once Sam admitted that the only reason he’d gone with lemon was because it had been the cheapest option, and not because he was fond of the flavor. 

\---------------------------------------- 

The woman had her way, and photos were snapped while the _Stepford family_ was sitting around the fountain gobbling down ice-cream. Normally Gordon Walker preferred to do things quick when it came to monsters. Skulking around waiting for photos to be developed, to then fax the damn things off to Bobby Singer for a positive ID on that Winchester brat...was not how Gordon liked doing things. 

A nest of vampires had been cleared out a few towns over. The only reason that Gordon had even bothered stopping at this gaudy tourist trap in the first place was to refuel and get a cup of joe that tasted slightly less like ass than the usual truckstop fare did. It had been dumb luck that Gordon even noticed the two brats. He’d been checking out a smoking redhead in a pair of tiny-ass shorts so short they almost left nothing to the imagination and legs that went all the way up. When _Red_ bent over to get her bag from the car, Gordon was pretty sure that was what heaven must look like. Then the bitch started shoving cash at that kid. 

Bobby Singer faxed back a confirmation. There was no doubt about it. The kid was Sam. Fucking. Winchester. 

The request was simple. It was a grab-n-stash for both the brat, _**and** Stepford family_. John was in Page, Arizona dealing with a Rugaru. Depending on how badly the man broke the speed limit, it’d take John some two to three hours to reach Sedona. Gordon just had to sit on them a few hours till John Winchester showed up to get his kid…and lay a beat down on the assholes dumb enough to take Sammy. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Dreamcatcher, from the description on the label. Sam thought that it sounded exactly like what Harry needed to help deal with the reoccurring nightmares. Sam selected one that was wrapped in green with silver looking beads attached to white dangling feathers. Inside, the intricately woven spiral stringing went from a golden tone down to a deep red center. Here and there, almost as though it were dancing, facets of delicate bits of quartz caught the light and shimmered merrily from inside the relative safety of the dreamcatcher's hoop. Even though Sam never really figured out what Amy’s comment had meant about Harry some day not liking green _and_ silver, this specific dream catcher _felt_ like it had been _made_ for Harry. The green suede wrapping matched perfectly with Harry’s eyes. Maybe Harry would still like this present even after he stops liking green and silver, Sam thought, hopefully, nervously. 

For once in his life, Sam didn't have to worry about whether or not he could afford something. Sam pulled the cash from his back pocket to pay for Harry's dreamcatcher. It was nice knowing that the money hadn't been scammed off of someone. 

In his hand, despite the tissue paper wrapping and plastic bag, the fragile feel of Harry's dream catcher just felt right. It wasn't real magic, nor was it a heavy gun that could break Harry's wrist...but, all the same, Sam hoped that maybe it would help with the nightmares. 

By now, Sam should have expected Harry's responses. 

Having given Harry the dreamcatcher, Sam now found himself wrapped up in about as big a hug as Harry was capable of giving. If there was one thing that Sam could say about Harry, it was that the kid was _always_ honest. A litany of unabashed ‘ _Thank you’s!_ ’ spilled from Harry’s lips. In a way, the reaction was kind of cute, and made Sam blush to have Harry clambering all over him. 

\---------------------------------------- 

When it came time to eat dinner…Amy selected a diner, mainly because it was decked out like a 1950’s diner, with vinyl records lined up across the walls. The tables and chairs gleamed red with brightly polished chrome, and contrasted against the black and white checkerboard tile floor. At one of the booths in the far back, close to the restrooms, Sam noticed one of his dad’s friends. Sam could feel Mr. Walker’s eyes weighing him down with his glare. Sam wasn’t sure if the glare was due to him being away from his dad, being with another family entirely, or the fact that another boy with a penchant for hugs was currently attached to him with some inexplicable version of octopus tentacles. Any one option was good enough for trouble, add them all up and death might be preferable to going home. 

At Sam’s side, Harry stilled. Inquisitive green eyes studied Sam’s expression while Amy and Rory tried to get the hostess to seat them. Harry blinked, once, twice…and _whined_. “I’m _tired_. Can we leave now?” 

Disengaging Harry from Sam’s side, Rory was able to easily pick the undersized child up. “You sure? You can kip in the booth. I’m sure that Sam wouldn’t mind--” 

“ _No._ ” Uncharacteristically, Harry interrupted Rory. “I want to _leave_.” 

With several apologies, the waitress was waved off by Amy on account of a ‘cranky’ child. The waitress didn't seem too upset over the prospect of losing a potentially _loud_ kid. Sam was only a little reluctant to leave, Gordon Walker was there after all, and could take Sam back to his dad and Dean. In the end, Sam walked out with Amy, Rory and Harry. 

\---------------------------------------- 

The scuffle outside the car caught everyone off guard. Gordon's first mistake was in trying to take down Rory. Not that it was possible for the hunter to ever have known--much less believed--the truth about who and what Rory really was. One thing Gordon _did_ now know was that appearances were very deceiving when it came to Rory. 

It couldn’t have been more than an hour before Gordon regained consciousness. Blinking fog away slowly and blearily, Gordon finally made out a room filled with tacky cactus-trinkets. Not a speck of motel-ick was visible anywhere. The cactus-patterned sheets were pristine...at least as much as they could be after being slept on by a man that had for all intents and purposes been dragged across a parking lot. 

Stationary on the desk told Gordon that this was the _Cozy Cactus Bed and Breakfast_. The address on the stationary confirmed that he was still in Sedona. That much was good news. 

A first-aid kit on the dresser seemed to mock Gordon. Simple, fucking, grab-n-stash his _ass_. 

Opening the sliding door to the terrace just off the room, Gordon allowed his eyes to adjust to the disappearing light as the sun set. The terrace connected to a larger courtyard, which had a reasonable sized fire-pit (currently lit) and several comfortable looking pieces of outdoor furniture to tempt guests into lounging and communing with nature or some such new-age hippy crap. 

“Glad to see you’re awake.” There was already someone seated out by the glowing fire, drinking a beer. The man was somewhere in his sixties. He gave an amused snort. “Name’s Canton, from New York…by way of D.C. 

“You were brought over from the diner.” Canton waved in what Gordon assumed to be the diner’s direction. “Said you passed out in the parking lot? The guy who found you paid your room here for the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous chapters are being updated. So, if there's stuff in here that doesn't _quite_ seem to fit... it's probably because something was changed in an earlier chapter. Also, my Beta pointed out that I'd forgotten Sam's dog. That's slowly being added into the story again. Seriously, can't believe I forgot about that dog.  >.<;;;


	8. Doctor's Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to give Dean a little loving.

On the road back to Flagstaff, Rory apologized for having to resort to violence in Sedona. The last thing Rory had wanted was to engage in violence in front of the boys. To say Sam was in shock was an understatement. The fact that some like... _Rory_ … had taken down an experienced hunter like Gordon Walker was...well, it was something that he didn’t think he’d ever see! Especially not as easily as Rory had managed to do. Probably what made the entire thing even more surreal was that when Gordon was down, Rory had checked on the man, and then told everyone to stay in the car while he made sure the unconscious man received proper medical care. Sam was boggled.

"I am so sorry that you had to see that." Rory was absolutely apologetic and remorseful. "Violence should only be used as a last resort." 

Amy nodded. "As far we're concerned, all other options should be exhausted before any confrontation. Right, Harry?" 

"Right." Smiling happily, Harry nodded in agreement. In his hands was the dream catcher, idly Harry allowed his fingers to trace the facets of the brightly shining quartz threaded into the webbing. "Just like dad says. Never use force. You'll just embarrass yourself. Unless you're cross. In which case, always use force." 

"Brilliant!" Amy twisted around in her seat to look back at the two boys seat belted in the back seat. "I always loved the Doctor's _rules_ , some were so completely arbitrary, and others out an' out contradicted themselves. Like, always bring a banana to a party." 

Harry giggled, then beamed a wide smile when he got a strange look from Sam. "I like the one about coincidences." 

"Coincidences?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah," Harry's attention was back down on his dream catcher again. "Never ignore coincidence. Unless you are busy, then always ignore coincidence." 

Sam snickered. "Those are some of your dad's rules?" 

Harry nodded, still giggling. "He's got normal ones too...like, don't get into trouble or don't wander off. That's actually his number one rule; don’t wander off." 

“Never run when you are scared,” Amy chimed in while turning back to watch the road, “that was a fairly good rule.” 

“One of my favourites is-- First things first, but not necessarily in that order.” Rory added with an amused chuckle. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Outside the _Cozy Cactus_ , Dean glared up at the starry night sky. It was already cold. Dean wrapped his arms around himself tightly. His dad had driven like a fucking bat outta hell when he’d heard Sammy was in Sedona of all places. They’d spent the last of their cash on gas, and hadn’t had a chance to hustle some more or even scam a new set of credit cards, which meant camping. Dean hated camping, not that he’d ever have told Sammy that. It was better to make Sammy think that _camping_ was something they did for _fun_. Not that Dean ever enjoyed having to deal with sleeping on a hard ground and fend off bugs. Every so often, mostly when there was no cash, they’d have to set up camp… and of course much to Dean’s annoyance, John would drink himself to sleep. 

In the private parking of the _Cozy Cactus_ , John Winchester spoke with the hunter that had seen Sam. Right now John didn’t have a lot of confidence in Dean, not with how Dean had lost his little brother. It wasn’t as though Dean didn’t already feel bad enough about Sam being gone, but his dad rubbing salt in the proverbial wound wasn’t making the situation any better. 

Dean turned his glare from the sky to the ground. Grinding his teeth, Dean just wished that Sam was back with them. Safe and fucking sound… not off with whatever whack-jobs had him. 

Not surprisingly, Dean watched as his dad disappeared into the motel and scowled. If John was going to pull the FBI routine, it wasn’t like an FBI agent would drag a kid around. Dean scuffed the toe of his well worn shoe in the gravel. Waiting while Dad did the FBI thing sucked. Despite the fact that he’d told himself that he wasn’t allowed to be hungry, Dean’s stomach gurgled angrily. There wasn’t money for food right now. Even if they’d had any, it would have been earmarked for gas. 

The crunch of gravel gave away the approach of a stranger. 

Dean quickly focused his attention to the potential threat. Alone, in a damn parking lot, Dean figured it’d just be his fucking luck to either be jumped by a monster or get his ass kidnapped by some pervy freak. Cautiously, Dean reached for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans. He might not be all that big yet, but Dean was determined to open a can of whup-ass on anything dumb enough to mess with him, especially now. 

The _threat_ turned out to be what looked like a uniformed waitress from the tacky 50’s diner across the street. On her uniform was a name-tag that said her name was Tammy. In one hand Tammy held a large plastic cup with lid, and in the other, partially propped against her ample bosom, was a bag emblazoned with the diner’s logo. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that _Tammy_ was making a delivery run. Lucky bastards. 

Almost as if the damn thing was conspiring against him, Dean’s stomach growled again. 

“Far out!” Tammy gave Dean and the impala a once over. Then did a double take just to be sure. Her valley-girl accent made every thing said sound like a question. “I guess you’re, like, who I’m supposed to deliver to.” 

“What?” Flustered, Dean nearly stammered as the bag of food was shoved into his hands. Not that Dean was going to turn down free food. Damn, was that chicken he smelled? Oh god, that had to still be all nice and hot. “Hey, I didn’t order anything.” Not like he COULD afford to order anything even if he _had_. 

“Uhm, look kid, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m getting a totally awesome tip to make this delivery. Think of it, like, a good samaritan thing or something. There’s, like, a lot of that going around tonight.” Instead of handing the soda over, Tammy put it on the hood of the impala since Dean’s hands were still somewhat occupied with the bag. “The delivery order said to give it to the kid near the black penis-compensation muscle car in the Cozy Cactus parking lot.” 

“Penis wha-- Wait! Whaddya mean there’s a lot of that going on tonight?” Dean was already looking in the bag, his mouth watered at the sight of several wrapped burgers and a chicken platter carefully packed in a take-out plastic container. 

Tammy shrugged. “Well, so like, a british couple was in the diner earlier with their two kids-- An’ the little one starts totally spazzing about how he’s tired. Thank gawd they left, cuz, possible screaming kid on _my_ shift equals so much not fun. 

“So anyway, this grody guy, that had been camping out in the back booth drinking nothing but coffee, follows them out.” Tammy rolled her eyes. “Ugh, talk about a lousy tipper. Anyway, british dude ends up bringing mister grody back in. And, like, mister grody is totally unconscious with british dude claiming he just passed out. 

“Now the weird thing is. We’ve been getting a regular from Cozy Cactus for about the past week. That guy walked in. British dude? Shoves, like, a bunch of bills into his hand and asks him to make sure that mister grody gets checked into a hotel or something. I swear, they were all like, hundred dollar bills too.” 

Dean blinked. Did he-- Did he just get _more_ information than his dad? That sounded suspiciously like what they knew about the situation. Tammy said part of this happened _inside_ the diner, that meant there should be some CCTV coverage. If the place recorded any part of their surveillance, they could finally start narrowing down what in the hell had Sammy. Dean knew that Gordon had photos, which Dean was dying to scrutinize, but sometimes shit showed up in video that didn’t in a still image. Fuck, he really missed Sammy.


	9. Dean talks to Canton.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canton tells Dean a tale.

"Sam?" Harry raised his arms and touched the underside of the slats of the bunk above him. Movies had been watched, tonight the movie was _Back to the Future_. While they'd been watching, Harry confided in Sam that the movie was kind of right about the way time travel worked. Story time consisted of _Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump_. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." 

Sitting up, Harry opened the curtains that hung around his bed. The dream catcher was hung up at the head of the bed where it could safely do it's job of keeping Harry's dreams nightmare free. "Did you want to talk to that guy?" 

Sam leaned over the side of the bunk and looked down at Harry in surprise. "How-- how did you know?" 

"You looked the way I used to feel-- when my aunt or uncle'd get mad at me." Perched at the edge of his bed, Harry peeked up at the blurry Sam shaped blob above him. At age seven, Harry never knew the effect his eyes had on others, much less when that brilliant piercing green wasn't being hidden beneath thick glasses. 

Reaching down, Sam brushed Harry’s hair back, revealing the lightning bolt shaped scar. “Are-- Are they the ones that gave you this?” Sam’s fingers gently traced the scar on Harry’s forehead. 

“I don’t think so. I’ve had it as long as I can remember.” Harry didn’t bother moving, if Sam was curious about his scar, Harry wasn’t going to stop his only friend from checking it out. After all, that scar was one of the things he liked best about himself. What Harry wasn’t about to admit was that during the time here, his scar had been picking up a dull ache. It had started as an infrequent twinge, but those twinges were slowly becoming more common and building into lingering aches. “Aunt Petunia said I got it in the car accident that killed my parents… Dad said that story is rubbish, it wasn’t a car accident. But when the time is right, he’ll tell me the truth about what really happened.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

Sam stared down at Harry, those impossible green eyes focused on him. There was something haunting and almost unnatural about that particular shade of green. Harry’s dark thick curling lashes didn’t help make those eyes any less hypnotizing. Scooting closer to the edge, Sam let himself partially dangle of the side of the bed, his hair flopping into his line of sight. For a moment Sam really wished that Harry’s glasses weren’t sitting on the dresser for the night. 

Of course Sam knew that bad things happened on a fairly regular basis to people that didn't deserve it. Dean claimed their own dad was a superhero, on occasion Sam was inclined to believe that… other times, mostly when their dad was passed out drunk after a particularly hard hunt, it was much more difficult to believe. 

Still, something nagged Sam about Harry’s scar. Amy had said that Harry was a year old when his parents died. “Do you remember them? Your parents, I mean.” 

Harry shook his head. “No. Sometimes I try, but-- I only remember a flash of green light.” 

Sam swung down from the top bunk, surprising Harry in the process. “Move over.” 

“What? Why?” Still, Harry did as told. 

“Because, I’m going to end up down here anyway.” Sam declared while slipping onto the bottom twin bunk next to Harry. “Normally my brother and I have to share a bed. So I sleep better when someone’s near.” 

Harry lifted the covers and snuggled up to Sam. “Oh. Okay.” 

Hours later, Sam and Harry were still up, talking to each other. Sam spoke at length to Harry about his brother, Dean… and what it was like to travel so much with their dad around the country.The monster talk was kept to a minimum. Since Harry couldn’t deal well with robots, Sam didn’t want to give the younger boy a harder time sleeping if he told him that monsters were real. 

Safely nestled against Sam’s side, and moments before completely falling asleep, Harry mumbled something vaguely incoherent about his dad being on a satellite and having eaten a kronkburger. 

It finally dawned on Sam what the problem was with Harry’s scar. The scar was too fresh. Scars, at least ones that were as old as the one that Harry had was supposed to be, tended to either eventually puff out or get a weird indented look, almost inevitably the skin there takes a lighter color. Gently, Sam traced the lightning bolt shaped scar once more and frowned in the darkness. Being around his dad and brother, Sam knew scars. He also knew how to care for them and had a good idea of how scars aged and healed. 

Harry’s scar felt like it was maybe a week old, at most. Not six years. 

\---------------------------------------- 

While his dad was over at the Diner checking out the CCTV tapes, Dean decided a little tactical excursion into the somewhat _warmer_ temperature of the _Cozy Cactus_ was in order. Plus, if the regular at the 50’s Diner was from this particular Bed and Breakfast, well, who’s to say Dean couldn’t run into that guy? By now Walker had bailed on them. Not that John or Dean had expected the other hunter to stick around anyway. Sam wasn’t Gordon’s problem. 

The leftovers from the unexpected meal had been stowed in a cooler in the backseat of the impala. Skulking into the _Cozy Cactus_ , Dean was immediately rewarded with a rush of warmth. Dean smiled inwardly, this was exactly what he’d been hoping for. Now, as long as no one noticed-- 

“Don’t slink around kid. It really makes you stand out.” Canton smirked as he rounded the corner, book in one hand, and a freshly acquired light beer in the other. “Unless being tossed out _is_ the idea.” 

Shit. Not really knowing how to react to this situation, Dean didn’t move, he just kept an eye on the man speaking to him. It wasn’t really every day that Dean _wasn’t_ tossed out on his ass for sneaking into places he wasn’t really supposed to be. Luck doesn’t run this good for a Winchester. Never has, and as far as Dean was concerned, never will. 

With a deep and somewhat annoyed sounding sigh, Canton leveled his gaze on Dean. “Look, kid, I’ve seen enough crazy things in this life to know that sometimes, just sometimes-- that thing you think you see just out of the corner of your eye, exactly where you don’t want to look, where you never want to look… is very real and is very, very deadly. And that is the sort of thing that _hunters_ go after.” With a shrug, Canton continued. “Very least I can do is _not_ make your lives any _harder_ than they already are.” 

Canton motioned towards the book in his hands, “Read much?” The book’s cover showed a lot of wear and tear. It was obviously an old book, well worn and well read. _Melody Malone_ read the title, with a barely legible subtitle sitting at the bottom of the cover art, _Private Detective in Old New York Town_. The cover art itself wasn’t anything special, standing in front of a spotlight filled New York skyline was a blond bombshell in nothing but a trench coat and a fedora suggestively holding a smoking gun. In other words, standard pulp fare. 

Dean swallowed hard. What. The. Fuck? 

\---------------------------------------- 

Warming his hands by the open flame from the fire pit in the _Cozy Cactus's_ outdoor terrace, Dean tried to wrap his brain around the sudden spate of good luck. On the armrest of his chair was an open can of coke. Dean had seen it come off a six pack, and opened it himself, so the chances of it being drugged were pretty slim. The book Canton had been carrying earlier was now with Dean. Not that Dean really was all that interested in it, though, based on the cover illustration he did have high hopes that there might be some smut hidden away in those pages. 

Turned out that Canton was _retired_ FBI. No wonder John’s FBI tactics didn’t work. 

Dean had time to kill before his dad got back. "So, what's up with the spooky corner of your eye mumbo-jumbo you were talking about?" 

"That?" Canton tried to shrug Dean's question off. "Long story short, it was an insane and ugly situation that got resolved. Good enough answer for you?" 

"No. Try again old man. With a set up like that, I want the full story." Dean leaned forward with a smirk. 

“You sure about that?” The question was pointed. It was evident that Canton didn’t really care much whether or not he told this _mysterious_ story. 

If Dean could have leaned further forward without falling over into the roaring fire in front of him, he would have. “Yeah, Old Man. I’m sure I can handle the crazy.” 

“You won’t get the full story. Not from me at any rate. I’m willing to give the bits which are considered official record, and don’t make it sound like I should be locked away in the loony bin.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “So, I’m getting the pussy version.” 

The response was a vaguely amused snort from Canton before he downed about half the bottle of beer. “Yeah, something like that. 

“It was sixty-nine. Everyone was amped up because of the space race… the Russians had already beaten us into space, but the President was going to put a man on the moon.” 

“Big fucking deal.” Dean slumped back against the overstuffed cushions on the outdoor sofa he’d been sitting on. “If I wanted to be bored out of my mind by non-creepy shit, I’d have watched an episode of _Are you Afraid of the Dark_.” 

Ignoring the rude interjection, Canton shrugged. “It’s called setting the mood. Now, quit interrupting if you want to hear this.” 

“Fine.” 

“Okay. Picture this, most powerful man in America, and out of the blue, some scared kid starts calling him on a nightly basis-- a kid afraid of being eaten by a space man.” Canton gave Dean a smirk, and went on to talk about the large blue police box that appeared in the oval office while he was talking to the president. Canton spoke of a man whose name was classified, known only as _The Doctor_ , supposedly on loan from Scotland Yard… alongside four companions. None of the companions offered up names until later. The companions were introduced as Legs, Nose, Kid and Mrs. Robinson. Those code names were based primarily on physical attributes. Legs was a redhead with longer legs than any woman had a right to have. Kid, however, really was a kid, dark hair, glasses, a lightning bolt shaped scar above his right eye and vivid green eys so bright they bordered on being unnatural… and not that much older than Dean was currently. 

The Doctor tracked the calls to Florida. Some _thing_ had been cobbling together bits and pieces of stolen tech from NASA. So, yes, there was a space man; and yes, it did eat the child. Legs tried to kill the space man. 

Less than a year later, Canton admitted to following orders. The Doctor was locked away in a prison made for him. The other four, ran across the continent attempting to evade capture and imprisonment. 

Legs was chased down a long dusty road in the Valley of the Gods in Utah. She was given the option to surrender, but they’d both knew that was never an option. Trapped between two SUVs and a cliff-face, the woman with longer legs than any woman had a right to have, was shot down and laid to rest in a body bag. 

At Glen Canyon Dam In Arizona, a cornered Nose tried to give-up. 

In New York, Mrs. Robinson dove off the 50th floor of an unfinished a skyscraper. 

The Kid was caught in Kentucky. Alone, afraid, and running… shot in the back, just like Legs and Nose. 

Canton leaned forward, took another swig of beer, and let his breath out in one long exhale. “Strange thing is… the four of them. They were running scared. But not of me and my team. No, they didn’t really care about us. Something else scared them, something else was making them run, terrified, across the continent. 

“I remember asking the Doctor why they ran. He didn’t answer me; he just changed the subject. 

“I asked him why his friends had tally marks all over themselves. Anywhere they could reach, there’d be marks scribbled, arms, legs, face, chest... He told me to ask _them_. Well, by then, I had three filled body bags. Asking them would have been a moot point.” 

Dean swallowed hard and Canton chuckled. It was a mirthless sound. “Now, imagine being in the middle of the dessert, on a secret army base, strapped in a straight-jacket, chained to a chair, bolted to the floor of a cell made of dwarf-star alloy, a material so dense that no light, radio waves or sound can penetrate it. That is the prison built for the Doctor, on loan from Scotland yard. 

“The body bags with his companions, Legs, Nose and Kid, those were dragged into the cell and left with him. Only reason Mrs. Robinson didn’t fill out the set; there wasn’t enough of her on the pavement to scrape up and waste a body bag on. Hell, the bags were even opened so the Doctor could see for himself that those were his friends.” 

His knuckles turning white, Dean had a death-grip on the book in his lap. The night suddenly felt a lot colder. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Even though the Winchesters were able to stay at the _Cozy Cactus_ that night, Dean spent most of it tossing and turning. His sleep restless. The nagging coincidence of that name… that… title, _The Doctor_. It had popped up a little too often for Dean’s liking. 

On the sofa, one leg already hanging off the side, with a low grunt, Dean pulled himself up into a seated position and nearly chucked his blanket to the floor. It wasn’t like he was getting much sleep anyway. Careful to not wake his dad, Dean clicked on the closest table lamp. It was the smallest light in the room, enough for Dean to see, but not enough completely illuminate the room. 

The warm golden glow from the lamp didn’t seem to bother John in the slightest. Asleep on the bed, having fallen face first into the pillows, John’s loud snores kept Dean company. 

Spread out across the small coffee table were the candid photos that Gordon had taken to identify Sam. Dean felt a pang of jealousy at the sight of his brother. These photos showed Sam happier than Dean had ever seen him. It looked like Sam was part of a normal family, not one that hunted down monsters. That was what Sammy had always wanted, to be normal. To stay in one place and stop moving around so much. Part of Dean felt guilty, both of the jealousy and his own personal desire to drag Sammy back to their own fucked up lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, writing Canton and not automatically have him sound like Crowley was one of the odder challenges that I've had. Mainly because it's the same actor for both characters. For a bit I did entertain the notion of claiming that the Crowley in Supernatural is a possessed Canton. Unfortunately, that would be a little too much of a wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey snafu for Doctor Who chronology. ^.~
> 
> Also, I totally blame Sam for Dean knowing about the show _Are You Afraid of the Dark_.


	10. Tonight is the Night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winchesters are starting to close in on the Ponds! Oh no! But, what's up with Harry's headache?

Early morning sunlight shone in through the curtains on the boy’s bedroom window. In the bed, safely hidden away behind a second set of curtains, Sam stared up at the bottom of the upper bunk. Tucked up against his side, Harry didn’t seem like he had any intention of waking. Sam poked at the younger boy, and got an unhappy grumble in reply. Harry hid his face and curled up even closer.

Sam sighed. 

He’d been with the Ponds for pretty close to a week. In his opinion, this was probably one of the best weeks of his life. With the exception of his brother not being there, it would have been perfect. 

\---------------------------------------- 

At breakfast Harry was groggier than normal. For the first time the small dark haired child wasn't trying to help set the table. Instead, Harry sat at the table with his face hidden tucked under his arms. When Amy inquired if anything was wrong, Harry quietly said that his head hurt. 

Rory tilted Harry's head up and ruffled the permanently mussed hair back to reveal a rather red and irritated looking scar on Harry’s brow.. "Harry, how long have you been feeling unwell?" 

Harry shrugged and tried hard to ignore the hand being pressed against his forehead. "Few days?" Harry's voice sounded about as small as he was. 

A concerned look went back and forth between Amy and Rory. Relinquishing his hold on Harry’s chin, Rory got up and rummaged around in the cabinet. A set of white tablets were shaken out of a small pill bottle and handed over to Harry along with a glass of water. “There’s a clinic just a few miles up in town. Let me know if you don’t feel any better within the hour, and we’ll head over there for a more thorough check-up, all right?” 

\---------------------------------------- 

More than a few choice words escaped Dean’s mouth when he rolled over off the sofa and onto the floor, nearly hitting his head on the side of the coffee table. It was morning, and Dean sorely wished that it wasn’t… a few more hours of sleep would be greatly appreciated. After a glare at the table that nearly took him out, Dean dared a glance over at the bed where his dad slept. It wasn’t all that surprising that John was already up, and no where in the room. 

Bathroom was empty too. It did however, show signs of use. Dean wondered if there’d be hot water for his own shower. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Since his head had been hurting, Amy and Rory decided (very much against Harry’s wishes) that Harry should remain inside while Sam had target practice. This decision led to a pouting Harry sitting at the window, mournfully watching as Sam set up his paper targets. Even Sam had to snicker at the pathetic picture that Harry presented on the other side of the glass. It was pretty hard not to give into temptation and let the small boy out and join them. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Breakfast had been, for lack of a better word, awesome. It was probably one of the only times that Dean had ever had strawberry pancakes with real strawberries, heaps of bacon, and only about the fluffiest eggs imaginable. If heaven existed, Dean doubted that it could hold a match to this place. 

They had a license plate number. It didn’t feel quite like the people who had Sam were trying very hard to hide. Bobby was currently pulling up all the information he could get on the car. With luck they’d be able to get Sam back. Just to be on the safe side, John was out asking questions, seeing if anyone else had seen Sam… trying to get a better read on the british couple. If Sam wasn’t theirs, it stood to reason that the other kid with them was also missing. 

Going over the copy of the CCTV footage that John had gotten from the night before, Dean frowned. Dean grabbed one of the photos littering the table next to him and tried to figure out what fucking game that Canton asshole was playing at. One of the photos, Sam’s face couldn’t be seen very well, but that little kid was clear as day. 

Dean remembered the description Canton gave him yesterday. Lots of people had black hair, and wore glasses. Just like lots of kids got fucked up scrapes and bruises, kids who were treated worse than others tended to get more beat up. That was life. Shit happens. But a damn lightning bolt shaped scar? That took talent. 

What kind of freak injury must happen to give a kid a scar like that? 

In the photo the kid held Sam’s hand. All Dean could think about was how much he wanted to get his brother _back_. 

\---------------------------------------- 

While Amy, Rory, Harry and Sam were at the Riordan State Park, happily pointing out neat little odds and ends in the restored historic mansion… Bobby contacted John. The car’s license plate had a positive identification. It was from a family station wagon, the same one from the photos, and it had been rented from a Hertz Car Rental in Flagstaff, Az with a credit card. 

The card used to rent the car belonged to a Dr. Rory Williams, a highly respected retired doctor from England but now settled in New York. Activity on the card showered that Dr. Williams and his author wife, were currentý at their New York house (if one could call a mansion a house), but being used in Arizona. The odd thing was, Bobby pointed out, every time that card was flagged for unusual activity in the past week, the Williams’ unflagged it and allowed the charges to continue. 

Stills from the CCTV at Hertz Car Rental were faxed directly to the _Cozy Cactus_. The only vague surprise there was that it only showed the couple, a man and woman, no kids. 

Bobby had managed to get records of the Arizona purchases. Another thing that the older hunter pointed out, the stuff that couple was buying. It read like the sort of shopping list a hunter might put together if they were looking for protection of the magical variety. These people had a damn good idea what they were doing, and weren’t bothering to hide. Either they were really cocky, or just that dumb. Unfortunately, that kind of attitude was just plain dangerous.... even more so since Sam was mixed up in all of this. 

It wasn’t until hours later that Bobby was able to pin point a small cabin in a touristy yet rustic area on the outskirts of Flagstaff. A few miles down from the cabin was a mom and pop mini-mart with gas station, where the Williams’ credit card was used on a fairly frequent basis. With amusement Bobby commented that one of the recurring charges was movie rentals, kid movies to be precise. 

The sun was already starting to set when John and Dean got on the road for Flagstaff. Little did anyone know, something far worse than an angry hunter and his son were also closing in on the Ponds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, depending on traffic, it takes about half an hour to an hour to drive from Sedona, Az to Flagstaff, Az. Google Maps is my friend.


	11. Ringing of the Bell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Sam to go home. Of course _that_ will go off without a hitch.

On the ride to the store, Amy talked with Sam about what he wanted to do. She and Rory were going back to New York soon, and Harry was going back to his dad. Last thing either Pond wanted was to leave Sam or his dog at the cabin where they’d picked him up. Naturally, all the things that they‘d bought him, were his.

For a moment Sam thought about giving them the address to one of his dad’s storage units, and taking off again. Then he realized that Amy was talking about physically taking him to any address given. Storage units were out. Same went for any motel that his dad had been known to frequent. “My dad’s got a friend in South Dakota… near Sioux Falls.” 

“Sounds good.” Amy glanced over at Rory. “River picks Harry up and takes him back to his dad… We fly to North Dakota with Sam, have this friend pick him up from the airport, and then we head off to New York. Anything that doesn’t fit in luggage can be boxed up.” 

“But, I don’t want Sam to go.” Fiddling with the strap on his seatbelt, Harry pouted. 

“Now, Harry. I’m sure that this friend of his dad’s has a phone, and an address where you can post letters to like a pen pal.” Pulling into a parking spot, Rory tried to console the pouting child. 

Harry undid his seatbelt and hopped out of the car once it was turned off. “But, how can Sam post me back. With as much as dad travels, we’re never in one spot long--” 

“Not an issue. Not when you start lessons at that private boarding school in scotland which your parents enrolled you in... before you were even born. Sam can send letters there.” 

Private Boarding School. That sounded very expensive. Hearing about an exclusive school coupled with Harry’s globe trotting dad, Sam’s heart sank fast. With the way that Amy and Rory spent money, it was no surprise to guess that these people were wealthy in ways that Sam could only imagine. Once Harry grew up, Sam knew, there was no way someone like _that_ was going to bother staying friends with someone like _him_. None of the kids at any of the public schools Sam had been to throughout the years had even attempted to stay in contact with him. Why should the Ponds or Harry be any different? 

It was nice that Harry at least sounded interested in being pen pals. Sam was pretty sure that a few letters in, Harry would lose interest. 

“Oy you.” Amy cuffed Sam’s shoulder affectionately while herding the two boys and her husband into the store. “Mister morose… Rory and I will be in New York, and at worst, we’re just a phone call away. If need be, reverse the phone charges. 

“Now, off you pop and go pick out a good film with Harry!” 

The quartet wasn’t in the store long before an angry torrential downpour of rain started up outside. Large drops splattered loudly against the windows, making the few people inside on this late thursday evening more than a little grateful that they were cozy and dry. 

Above the brightly lit building, angry clouds kept accumulating and swirling… darkness growing ever more, and spreading as far as it could, ravaging the land. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Rain battered against the sides of a blue tarp that wasn’t quite blue enough. There wasn’t a soul around when the Tardis’ roof light flickered on, shortly followed by a soft glow illuminating the _Police_ sign and a small electrical hum. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Baby’s fuel tank was running low, and with as sporadic as gas stations were getting, John pulled into the one station both he and Dean _knew_ that the family who had Sam tended to use. Dean sat in the passenger’s side, mostly looking at the map in his lap, and mostly being mildly grateful that this station was self-serve. There were precious few other vehicles around, they could pull a pump-n-run without much too much hassle. With the rain was coming down in sheets, the slick roads meant people would be less likely to take chase. The impala’s tires were made for traction. 

It was coincidence that Dean looked into the rear view mirror. John had been meaning for the past several weeks to fix the strange cant it had, which made it pretty useless while driving. The odd tilt, however left it at the exact angle for the mirror to frame a certain station wagon. Even through the heavy rain, Dean could make out the license plate number. Any more perfect, and Dean would have wanted a photo to remember this occasion. If there had ever been any question about it, Dean adored _Baby_. 

Ignoring the rain soaked door frame, Dean half slid out of the window. Ass perched on the open window frame, the roof’s lip bit into Dean’s chest when the teen tried to lean over it in his excitement. “Dad!” Dean waved back at the station wagon. “Check it out.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

It was a sound both warm and cold, ominous yet and beckoning refuge. Barely audible over the both Bones fearful howling and cacophony of the rainstorm besieging the countryside, the Tardis’ cloister bell began to ring her warning; the clanging toll begging to be heard and heeded. The Tardis’ lights pulsed in time with the doleful sound. 

The Tardis door swung open.


	12. When Dean met Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters meet the Ponds, and all is not well.  
> Spells will fly, and bullets too, to save a hunter's son.  
> Witches appear and wizards too, Deatheaters they do claim.
> 
> To help the fray, the Tardis opened her doors,   
>  and yet, the Doctor was not there.
> 
> Harry is hurt, as is Dean, and all is not well.

Daring the rain, Dean darted across the asphalt, and ducked under the awning of the mini-mart. The electronic doors opened automatically with a near silent whoosh, a sound lost amongst the thundering rain. Dean glanced around, as well as he could, trying to see over the tops of the isles laden with brightly packaged products. Bobby had said that kid movies was something these people picked up.

A quick reach back, Dean pretended that he was adjusting his waistband. In reality he was simply reminding himself that he was indeed armed. His glock was hidden beneath an oversized shirt from the Salvation Army. Stealthily, Dean made his way over to the movie rental section where he wandered up and down the aisles for a bit; favoring the kid movies. 

\---------------------------------------- 

They'd been deciding between movies when Harry's headache came back with a vengeance. Instead of the dull throb from that morning, this one was intense and blindingly sharp. It came on like a Mack truck with the break line cut roaring down hill. Only Sam's lightning fast reflexes, honed from years of training with Dean, saved Harry from colliding against the floor. 

In the back of the store, near the restrooms, there were seats. Shouldering most of the smaller boy's weight, Sam half carried, half dragged Harry to those seats. Sam figured that was probably the best place to park Harry. "I'm going to go find Amy and Rory." Pressing the back of his hand against Harry's forehead, Sam frowned. For the most part from what Sam could tell, Harry's temperature seemed normal, except for that scar. The scar that looked angry and fresh, and felt noticeably warmer to the touch. "You stay here, okay?" 

Harry nodded, and accepted Sam's help up into the time-yellowed plastic chair. Presumably, if Harry had felt even an iota better, he would have responded verbally. Instead Sam was left with that one small nod as Harry mentally debated curling up into a fetal position, but settled on simply bringing his legs up and tucking his knees under his chin. Sam jogged away, skirting around the sides of the aisles as he ran towards the front of the store to find Amy and Rory. 

It didn't take long for Sam to locate Amy and Rory. 

Unfortunately, it took about the same amount of time for Dean to locate Harry. 

On the way back with Amy and Rory, yet still several rows from where Sam had left Harry, Sam heard Harry cry out in fear. Harry was yelling at someone to let him go. The adults and Sam broke into a sprint. They rounded the last corner in time for Sam to see his brother haul Harry from his seat. Dean suddenly jerked as though an electrical shock had run through his system, dropping his hold on Harry. 

"Dean!" 

From nowhere a loud crack sounded through the store, echoing, and Harry was gone. 

Frozen, Sam blinked. Harry hadn't run. This wasn't as though Harry was playing a really good game of hide and seek. Harry was _disappeared_ gone. Magic gone. Star Trek, _beam me up Scotty_ type gone. "He--" 

Amy and Rory were still moving, and quicker, as though the disappearance of Harry had spurned them on. "Apperated." Rory _helpfully_ informed Sam. Though it really wasn't much help since Sam had no clue what that even meant. "Harry apperated, which is potentially a very bad thing for him to do so young." 

Rory was at Dean's side, before the shock of a _disappearing person_ wore off. He was checking Dean over visually, pulling at his arms, and inspecting his hands. "Are you alright?" Rory asked, concern ringing through his voice, "does anything hurt?" 

While Rory checked out Dean, Amy was on the floor, investigating the area where Harry had vanished from. "I cannae find anything." Amy sat up, and combed her fingers through her long red hair, brushing it out from her face. "I don't think Harry splinched himself.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

It felt like the little bastard had nailed him with a damn taser. Dean didn't have much of a choice in letting the kid go. It took a bit for everything to process. "What the hell did that little freak do to me?" Dean growled through grit teeth at the closest convenient target, meaning Rory. 

"Do? Oh, that little zap." Over Rory's shoulder, Amy made a comment about having _words_ with Dean if he called Harry a freak again. "Defensive mechanism. One specifically meant to startle a perceived threat rather than cause any harm. Kind of how an octopus will squirt ink into the face of a predator to facilitate its escape and swim to safety." 

"That doesn't make any sense. What's going on, what happened to Dean, where's Harry and what was that sound?" Sam demanded to know. 

For a moment the Muzak paused as the loudspeakers in the mini mart announced that there was a phone call for Dr. Williams at the front of the store. 

\---------------------------------------- 

At the front of the store, Rory accepted the call. While on the phone all the blood seemed to drain from his face during the hushed exchange of information. Still quite pale, Rory placed the handset back into the cradle. Quietly he bought a set of umbrellas that were close-by, along with a relatively cheap but functional flashlight. One of the umbrellas was handed off to the two boys. "Sam, it's time you got back to your family." Rory's attention was focused on the large window being pelted with rain. Every so often the night sky became illuminated by flashes of lightning. "We'll make sure your property gets back to you--" 

"Rory. Who was that?" Now Amy was looking out the window while simultaneously attempting to gently usher the two boys towards the door and back to their father. "What’s happening?" 

Rory gave an awkward little shrug. “Uhm, we’ve got a problem. Harry is on the roof, and he’s not got his biodamper… hasn’t had one since arriving in America.” 

“Which means Deatheaters.” Amy sighed. “The phone call?” 

“That one is, ah, keeping his distance. Blinovitch Limitation Field an’ all.” Which of course didn’t properly answer the question in any fashion. Rory was already moving to exit, and fiddling with the umbrella in his hands and nearly juggling the flashlight in the process. “I’ll find a way up to the roof to get Harry. You make sure that the boys get back to their father…” 

Juggling her own now opened umbrella, Amy partially manhandled both boys out the door while ignoring their questions about Deatheaters, biodampers and (as Dean mispronounced it) the Blinky-itch thing. Rory was off, headed around the building, presumably seeking out a fire-escape that would take him up to the roof. 

“Sam. Dean. First things first, but not necessarily in that order.” Amy’s outstretched arm ran behind Sam, her hand firmly on Dean’s back as she bustled the brothers back towards the impala. “John Winchester, I am Amelia Williams Pond,” she called out, and immediately found a gun muzzle aimed at her, “and I need you to take your boys, get back in your car and leave. Right now. 

“There’s a group of witches and wizards coming here, now. They call themselves _Deatheaters_. They’re like nothing you’ve encountered before.” Water droplets beaded off of Amy’s umbrella when she set it down on the oil stained concrete near the impala. At her side, Amy’s bag bounced against her hip while Amy tried to maneuver Sam to the car. “Mean and nasty doesn’t even begin to describe--” 

Without warning, Dean suddenly was jerked upwards into the air. Sam’s screams joined his brother’s. 

\---------------------------------------- 

No one ever saved him. 

No one cared enough to. 

Dean stared into Amy’s wide green eyes. This complete stranger, this crazy lady, was trying to do what no one ever bothered to do before. Save him. 

\---------------------------------------- 

It wasn’t as though Amy had a clue about what she intended to do. Then again, Amy didn’t want to count the number of times that the Doctor had leapt to do something insane. All it took was seeing someone in trouble to spur Amy into action. 

Amy grabbed Dean. 

With a shriek Amy’s feet left the ground as she was hauled along with Dean. Wrapping arms around the flailing teen, Amy twisted herself around. Thinking on her feet, more specifically, thinking in three dimensional movement… “Hang on kid!” 

The two of them hit the ceiling. Amy screamed when her leg gave. 

Instead of letting go, Amy held on tighter. Not that there was much choice in the matter as far as Amy was concerned. The Doctor said _never interfere in the affairs of other people or planets… **unless** there are children crying_. 

Dean could handle himself, Amy knew. Right here, right now… Dean was still a child, and _needed_ help. It was the least she could do. 

Through the rain, out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw a wizard appear on the opposite side of the road. It wasn't Harry. Amy twisted again when she saw a flash of red light. Part of her was grateful that it wasn't green light...green was deadly. When it felt as though her skull was cracked open, bones ablaze, and fire running through her veins instead of blood, Amy wished it had been green. Wild spasms wracked her body and forced Amy to release the death grip she'd had on Dean. 

Amy never realized the screams she heard, were her own. She hit the ground with a sickening thud. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Hazel eyes were wide in terror as Sam watched Dean was tossed upwards like a rag doll, and Amy’s futile attempt to save him. Knowing about witches and monsters was one thing. _Actively_ seeing the effects of magic was horrifying. There was a flash of red, almost like a camera’s flash, from across the street. The red flash moved through the air towards Amy and Dean, and would have sworn that Amy actively made sure she was the one hit instead of Dean. 

It wasn’t until Sam finally _SAW_ one of the witches first hand that the sheer horror of the situation dawned on him. The witch _FLEW_ in on a broom, straight to where Amy lay helpless on the ground. Monsters were supposed to be something that you thought about… they lurked in the shadows, out of sight like dirty secrets. Not hover, larger than life, under flickering fluorescent lights. 

Monsters didn’t wear red and black hoodies. 

Monsters didn’t wear jeans or black sneakers. 

Monsters were scary, and ugly. 

Monsters weren’t supposed to look like people. 

Sam’s attention was glued to the witch. It’s hood was up, obscuring its face. The witch barely slowed as it turned in midair over the impala, ignoring the presence of the hunter, and slashed through the air with it’s wand. Sam thought he heard the witch say _Protego_. What looked like a translucent wall glittered momentarily and faded from view. 

For one miniscule and surreal moment, the witch paused and hovered over Amy. She waved the witch away and pulled a gun from her hand-bag. Sam’ stomach sank when the witch changed tactics and went after Dean instead. He’d expected Amy to shoot the witch, and yet, she was firing at something across the street. 

For a moment it felt like energy was crackling around Sam, like a living thing. Amy’s scream joined Sam’s, along with the thundering echo of John’s gun. The witch faltered slightly as the bullet from John’s weapon tore into it’s shoulder. 

Above Dean the ceiling was blasted away by a blue light shot out from the witch’s wand. 

\---------------------------------------- 

As he struggled, Dean’s body was flung up against the cheap aluminium ceiling and bounced repeatedly. On the third impact after the loss of Amy’s ill-thought attempt at protection, a smear of blood was left behind where Dean made contact with the time worn powder white finish. Years of accumulated exhaust fumes was being scraped off by Dean’s hand and sneakers as he fought against the invisible force tormenting him, a clear map of Dean’s useless scramble was left painted across the ceiling. Nothing helped stem any of the pain as he was relentlessly flung against the ceiling again. 

Same as he could hear Sammy screaming his name below, Dean could hear the metal creaking as it bent further each time he was thrown against it. It was on the fourth impact, Dean felt a horrible, cracking, crunching, grating pain emanate from his ribs. Dean howled in pain. 

By now the aluminum ceiling was a bloodied horror. 

Dean’s brain told him with amazing clarity, he was going to die. 

The new round of screams from below barely registered as Dean felt himself drop and then thrust back into the upswing again. What did register was a strange word, spoken with urgency, followed by a blue light that shot over Dean’s shoulder. Reducto. 

There was screaming, and gunshots. 

Dean’s stomach lurched when he first felt the rain. He’d gone through the ceiling, and kept going higher. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Sopping wet, umbrella abandoned on the rooftop, Rory was back at the impala. Harry had been fetched from the rooftop, and tightly clung, shivering and sobbing almost silently into Rory’s shoulder. They’d arrived just in time to slam into John and throw off what had promised to be a kill-shot, turning it into a shoulder wound. “Not _him_.” Rory hissed at John through grit teeth. “Right now, _**that** wizard_ is your one hope of getting Dean back; alive _and sane_ … An’ you just _**shot**_ him.” 

Rory informed John that iron didn’t do a bloody thing against this type of witch. If anything, it’d probably be construed as an insult and piss them off further. The only advantage that they had at the moment was, these witches didn’t know what guns were. A double tap with regular bullets would do nicely. The trick was to find the bastards and kill them quickly before Dean died a very messy, very bloody death… and before the witches and wizards started recognizing how dangerous an automatic weapon was. 

In order to retrieve Amy, Rory needed to _not_ have a small wizard child attached to him. Harry was forcibly made to release his near death-grip on Rory, and set down close to Sam. Tears streamed down the child’s cheeks, the only sounds that Harry made was closer to a hiccup, than a sob. Rory knew that young children cry for various reasons and usually the louder the wails, the more attention it draws from a caring adult. The fact that Harry was almost completely silent when the situation honestly did merit impressive vocal acrobatics, nearly broke Rory’s heart. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Pain continued to radiate from Dean’s chest. Something else grabbed onto Dean and experimentally tugged him in another direction. It was a person. It couldn’t be a person. Witch. 

It moved with Dean’s ascent, trying to bodily force a deviation in Dean’s trajectory, only pausing for wand waving. “Finite!” Whatever was tossing Dean around like a rag doll faltered momentarily. The flying witch was still flitting around Dean, looking for the perfect opportunity to grab him. The spell was repeated with more force. “ _ **Finite!**_ ” 

The initial spell spasmed. It didn’t work. Dean realized he was going to be dashed against the roof, if he was unlucky, it’d be the pavement. Like an inquisitive humming bird, the witch was there, swooping up close for Dean to see bright green eyes and a shock of messy black hair hidden away beneath the hood. The witch wasn’t watching Dean perse, instead keeping his attention on a wooded area across the road from the mini-mart. 

With a broad sweeping gesture, the witch pulled Dean close before waving the wand again. “ _ **FINITE INCANTATEM!**_ ” 

Dean dropped into the witch’s lap. The pained gasp from the witch was almost music to Dean’s ears. Being held tightly like this, Dean could smell the distinct metallic coppery scent of blood, combined with the full body shudder when the witch took the full brunt of Dean’s weight meant one thing. It was hurt. Dean could work with that. 

This witch wasn’t that much bigger than Dean, and they weren’t that far from the roof. Even with his ribs fucked up, a fall from this height was survivable. 

Before anything _else_ could happen, Dean curled his hand into a fist. Aiming at the shoulder of the arm supporting him, Dean put as much force into his punch as possible. 

It worked. Ribs screaming in pain, Dean tried not to black out as they hit the roof. The witch was beneath him. For one insane moment Dean thought that maybe the bastard had tried to buffer him from the brunt of their landing. But that had to be his imagination. There was no way in hell that a _monster_ would _help_ a _hunter_. 

“Bloody Hell!” Beneath Dean, the witch was already moving. The strange broom was pushed aside, and Dean manhandled up into a seated position. A quick flick of the slender wand plus the incantation “ _Ferula_ ,” and bandages spun up around Dean’s chest, the pain that had been making it harder to breathe eased considerably. The blood and ichor from the ceiling was gone, and Dean felt worlds better. “Dean, mate, you mental?!” 

Dean took a swing at the witch. The punch connected and Dean grinned in triumph as the witch tumbled back from him. “Witch, what the hell did you do to me?!” 

There was a barely audible crack. Broom hefted on his good side, the witch sprang into action as a third person wearing long dark flowing robes popped into view. All it took was one solid swing of the weird looking broom to drop the newcomer, a swing that connected with the robed man’s head. 

“Ferula, is a bandaging charm. Now, quit calling me a witch before I hex you. For the love of Merlin, you berk, I’m a wizard.” The wizard grabbed the wand from the unconscious robed figure, and snapped it into two, then four pieces before throwing it as far as he could. Pushing the hood down, the wizard then turned his attention on Dean. “The name’s Harry.” 

Lightning crashed in the distance, illuminating the night sky. That’s when Dean saw the scar. The same damn scar on Sam’s friend. 

Another series of cracks went off. They had company.


	13. Changing Tides.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Harry bonding time.

**Chapter 13.**

Rain water poured down in through the charred hole. “You _arse!_ What in the bloody hell are you thinking?! Shooting at the kid trying to save your son!!!” Amy fumed at John over the din of the storm. Having been half dragged, half fireman carried, by her husband across the concrete hadn’t improved the fiery ginger’s disposition in the slightest. Her Scottish ancestry coming to the forefront, Amy didn't even wait to be set down before yelling from Rory's shoulders. Above them, several thuds could clearly be heard against the aluminum roof. 

“Lady, you’re one to talk.” John’s glock was now squarely aimed at Amy. 

“Oi, you two! Bigger problems. Angry Deatheaters, ring a bell?” Rory gave his wife a pointed look. “They’ve been tracking Harry’s magic-- they're going to realize something's up if they get their hands _on_ Harry...” 

Amy glanced away from John, and into the car at Sam and Harry, then up at the hole in the ceiling. Bright flashes of light could be seen intermittently through the hole. Magic. “An' neither version is the right age." 

Rory held his hand up, finger extended, to shush John before the man could even speak. The gun was now aimed at Rory for his efforts. "What the hell are you freaks on about, and it'd better include a damn good reason for me to not drop the both of you right now." John growled. "Like the rest of those witches out there." 

"Because you’re not a murderer. We're human." Rory snapped back as he gingerly set his wife on the impala's front seat. The door to the vehicle had been open, and the man saw no reason to make Amy stand while injured. "No magic, vampirism, lycanthropy, shapeshifty-ness or demon anything... Our souls are very much our own, and we keep our heads down and try to stay out of as much trouble as possible, thank you very much.” 

"What we do have, is knowledge.” Amy helpfully added. “An' what we're going on about, is how _very **not good**_ it will be if _**that**_ group of witches and wizards _obsessed_ with magical blood purity...get their hands on the child of a _time-traveller_." Her attention fully on John, Amy frowned. "Rory and I will be happy to go into a little more detail when there are few less murdery baddies that want us dead. We can sit, have a nice cuppa and chat.” 

Still trained on Amy, John cocked his gun. “What kind of idiot you take me for? You really expect me to believe in time-travel bullshit?” 

Amy’s hands went up. “Believe it or not, but that’s the truth!” 

“Truth is also that we need to get a move on. We’re technically hiding behind a shield charm thrown up by a, oh, judging by that jumper,” Rory thought for a moment, “I’d guess maybe fourteen... fifteen year old wizard. Those pretty glittery effects we’ve been too busy _arguing_ with each other to notice, is spells from adult wizards hitting it. 

“Amy and I have a rented cabin just up the road a mile or two. It’s safe. Get Amy and Harry there.: Rory ordered John, and motioned upwards to where several thumps could be heard on the roof.. “Once you start moving, he’ll follow with Dean. I’ll stay behind and bring up the rear.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

It wasn’t as though much choice was given to John Winchester in the matter. Sam had been asked to pop into the back seat, and Amy was buckling herself into the front with an unresponsive Harry tucked up against her side. Even though Sam had complied, the youngest Winchester protested the current plan. Last thing _either_ Winchester wanted was to leave Dean behind, much less with a witch. 

“Wizard.” Amy corrected. Casually, she ran her fingers through Harry’s permanently mussed hair. “Only the girls are witches. Boys are wizards… it’s the same as calling a rooster a hen. Same species, wrong gender.” 

Getting in the impala himself, John coarsely informed Amy that he didn’t give a fuck about what each damn gender was called. Witches and wizards were monsters, and hunters killed monsters. It was as simple as that. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Beneath them, Harry and Dean heard the impala’s engine roar. The two boys worked reasonably well as a team. Injured as he was, Harry had been able to hold the Deatheaters back and block their spells... and Dean shot them, in the head. Turned out that most protection spells were useless against bullets. Harry, pointedly didn't comment on the fact that there were now four dead wizards on the roof. 

Dean filed that little bit of information about the bullets away for later in case _Sabrina the Teenage Witch_ decided to show his true colors and attack him. 

Rather awkwardly, Harry shrugged out of the hoodie he was wearing. Beneath it, the wizard had on a very boring and rather non-descript long sleeved knit shirt, it’s only real distinctive feature was a dark patch of blood which was still slowly getting larger on Harry’s shoulder. “Put this on.” Harry tried straightening out the piece of clothing as he shoved it towards Dean. 

“Fuck you, no.” The more pressing concern was his dad, leaving. Clothes could wait. Besides, it had witch blood on it. Like hell Dean was going to pull THAT on. 

“Dean, Deatheaters don't pull punches with their spells. That jumper's got protective enchantments woven into it. It won't stop some of the nastier spells, but it's better than nothing." Harry gathered the wands again. Same as before, he broke them into fourths. "With a bum shoulder I can't fly _and_ cast. I fly with you, you can shoot. It'll give us both a better chance of surviving this." 

"Why shouldn't I take--" Dean was going to say, take you out right now... 

The muzzle of Dean's gun was grabbed and held against Harry's forehead, a little to the left of the lightningbolt shaped scar. "Then do it." Unnaturally vibrant green eyes glared at Dean. "Otherwise, quit wasting time, and put on the jumper, and we can be on our way." 

Harry swore when another crack was heard, at least Dean _thought_ that was swearing. 

\---------------------------------------- 

The Deatheaters weren’t bothering to hide themselves anymore. Spiraling plumes of black smoke billowed ominously in the air as witches and wizards took chase. Dean’s knuckles were pure white as he gripped Harry’s broom, and Dean swore to himself that he was going to shoot this bastard in the head for zigging and zagging so damn much. 

The only thing saving that Harry-ass, was that Dean was figuring out when the jerk was going to start pulling some of the crazier stunts while flying. Dean felt the wizard’s grip on him tighten, and they went into a twisting spiral that took them skywards. It was like being on the most insane, and _least safe_ roller-coaster in the world. Then fucking spells were added to the damn mix. 

\---------------------------------------- 

It was like watching poetry in motion. Terrifying, yet Sam couldn’t take his eyes away, not since Amy had pointed out Dean flying with the wizard. They were so far away. It was hard to believe that Dean was with one of those monsters, even if it was making itself useful. 

The tiny dot that was Dean and the wizard quickly gained on the impala. Those dark billowing clouds chased them. 

In the front seat, Amy located one of the guns from the glove compartment. Amy turned to try and take aim at the wizards behind them, then burst out giggling when it looked like the wizard with Dean had gone insane, lost control of his flight path and smacked into a plume of smoke. 

“They’re going to crash,” Sam looked back from the wizards to his dad and pleaded. “Dad! We have to go back and try to get Dean! _Please!!!_ ” 

\---------------------------------------- 

They’d spun around and whacked one of the Deatheater’s in the head with the tail end of the broom. Really, Dean was debating the merits of shooting Harry, but he had to give props where they were deserved though, the fucker _knew_ how to fly. 

Pulled so close against Harry, Dean could not just _hear_ , but _feel_ the wheezing raggedness of the wizard’s breath. It hadn’t been quite as bad when they’d started out. 

Next to them a masked wizard waved his wand… Harry jerked on the broom’s handlebars and up they went before a spell could hit them, the movement didn’t stop Dean from getting a clear shot. By now Dean was starting to get a feel for _how_ this stupid broom moved. Of all the things, Dean never imagined that he’d be on a frikkin’ broom and _flying_ with a damn wizard. 

Dean wanted to ask Harry how he was doing. Make sure that they were going to make it to wherever they were headed; unfortunately, Dean didn’t know how taxing flying was on the guy and didn’t want to break Harry’s concentration unless he absolutely _needed_ to. So far, they’d been lucky, and hadn’t been hit by any of the spells being thrown. Dean didn’t know how long that luck was going to last. Following the road as Harry was doing, they had no cover and were sitting ducks. 

The hell with it. “Harry, the trees.” Dean ordered. Experimentally Dean grabbed at the handlebar to see if _he_ could direct where they were going. Oddly enough, Harry nodded, then slowed a bit and allowed the change. “We can hide there.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

A fair ways into the woods, Harry brought the broom to a full and somewhat shaky stop. Dean was let off the broom, and then Harry dismounted. “Thanks for the suggestion.” Harry was out of breath, and sounded like he was about to collapse any moment, which wasn’t all that far from the truth. The blood stain on his shoulder had grown in size. 

The leafy canopy above was keeping most of the storm from reaching the two boys. That was one unexpected blessing. 

“Do that bandage spell, _thing_ , on your shoulder.” Dean barked. “The bleedings getting worse, and you look like shit.” 

Harry leaned against a tree and grinned. There was the attitude that Harry was used to. “Careful, Dean-o, someone might actually think you’re concerned about me.” The grin stayed firmly in place as Harry looked around to make sure they weren’t being followed. “I’d love to bandage myself up. Problem is, I can’t get the movements quite right on that one to hit myself with it. All it takes is one grandstanding moron tossing around bollocksed up spells to give any proper wizard a _very_ healthy respect when it comes to spell casting.” 

Dean gave Harry a glare, presumably in regards to the light needling that Harry had been doing. “Look, _Witch_ , I don’t give a rat’s ass about--” Dean’s words trailed off. Harry had made a complex wave of the wand, and Dean was visibly trying to figure out what in the hell that wave was supposed to achieve. 

“Hot air charm. Safer, quicker and easier than conjuring blue-bell flames.” Harry explained as he aimed the tip of his wand at himself. The wizard’s clothes gave off a bit of steam, but otherwise were drying at a fairly steady clip. “I know you don’t care what happens to me. I’m a wizard, and you’re a Hunter. Only reason you didn’t shoot me on the rooftop, is because I was being useful. 

“If it helps any, I actually was born this way. With magic, I mean. I haven’t… I didn’t... “ Harry sighed. “I’m not stupid enough to get involved with demons or anything like that. Not that it really matters. _Hunters_ shoot first, and forgo the questions for another clip because the only good witch, is a dead witch.” 

By now Harry’s entire weight was being supported by the tree he’d been leaning on. He turned the wand on Dean, warm air swirled welcomely around the young hunter, and steam rose from Dean’s clothes as he was also dried off. Even Dean had to admit that Harry was right in that assessment of hunters. The only good witch was a dead one. It was dangerous to think of monsters like they were people. That kind of thinking got hunters killed. “You still look like shit.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

“Start talking.” John Winchester’s foot was pushing the pedal to the metal as he did the one thing he didn’t want to do. Leave Dean behind. A gun was aimed directly at the woman seated next to him in the impala. “Or I will drop you. And it’d better make some fucking sense. Witches don’t act like those things.” _Nothing_ John _knew_ of acted the way those things were acting. “Don’t give me any of that time travel bullshit either.” 

“Of course they don’t act the same. This _breed_ of witch and wizard… they are _born_ with magic. For them, casting spells is as natural as walking.” Arm around Harry, Amy absentmindedly stroked the small child’s hair. Harry still wasn’t responding to anything. Amy figured that he was most likely in a fugue state. For the moment, that seemed to be a blessing in disguise, and Amy really hoped that it would at least last till the Doctor could be reached. 

\---------------------------------------- 

In the backseat, Sam fidgeted nervously. Even at nine, he knew that something wasn’t adding up. Worse, it was adding up in ways that Sam really didn’t like. Amy seemed certain that Dean wasn’t in danger from that witch… wizard. The one that looked like a person. Wizards were monsters, right? Even if Amy said they were born like that, they had to be bad. Weren’t they? 

Amy knew the wizard with Dean. “Are you one of those born witches?” Sam feared the answer would be yes. It would explain why Amy knew so much. It would also explain those weird fairy tales. 

“No. Normal person. But, good guess.” Amy told John to take the next right. The impala swerved sharply on the slick road, it’s back tires drifting a little. 

Sam thought again. _Neither_ version of Harry was the right age. That’s what Amy had said. “How old are those _wizards_ expecting Harry to be?” 

“Eleven.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

"Wait, wait, wait--" Harry stopped Dean before the thirteen year old could go any further. Seated on the ground, and braced against a tree, Harry was moments from Dean trying to get the bullet from his shoulder. "This is a bad idea." 

"No shit _Sabrina_. I've only helped my dad field dress like a million times." Dean snarked back. In Dean’s hand was a leatherman, the tool having been slightly altered and sterilized by magic. Not that they had many better options at the moment. Harry _needed_ to be patched up, he was running on pure adrenaline, and both of them knew it. 

"That's not what I mean. Well, I'm an idiot." With a sigh, Harry sat forward and shoved Dean back away from himself. "When I was a kid, I was kidnapped. Mondovians. They were trying to figure out wizard physiology, get past our natural defenses... Wizards don't upgrade very well, we short out the systems for the cyber conversion process. The process hurts. They tried putting me through it, and my magic went on the fritz. It was like an electrical surge went through their systems.” 

“Okay, so you’re an idiot. What does any of that have to do with me pulling a damn bullet out of you?” 

“It means my reflexive defenses are going to try and make you stop rooting around in my shoulder. Attack spells are ranged for a reason. I fried electrical systems as a kid. Unless I’m actively chewing through chunks of my magic, you digging around with a _metal_ instrument in my shoulder…” 

Dean sat back on his haunches and sighed. “Witch, you really aren’t giving me a lot of confidence here. You know that, right?” 

Harry laughed. “Seriously mate, I’m going to hex you if you keep calling me a witch.” 

“Yeah right. I’ll believe that when you do. Besides, from what I’ve seen, you’re too much of a pussy to kill anything. You need me alive and kicking.” Dean grinned back despite the dangerous situation the two boys found themselves in. “You going to start blowing magic so I can survive patching your lame witch ass up?” 

Patronus charm. It was the one spell that Harry _knew_ would use as much of his resources as possible… it was flashy, hard to maintain, and oddly enough, comforted Harry each time he cast it. Which was good, because right now Harry could use a little emotional comfort. Nevertheless, it was considered one of the most powerful defensive charms known to wizardkind. Normally Patronuses were called in as shields, this was the first time Harry had ever thought of using one as anything other than a protector. Harry wondered, what other uses a Patronus could have. “ _Expecto Patronus_ …” Harry hissed through grit teeth, and grabbed onto a happy memory while his wand was swished in a neat circle. This was going to hurt. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Dean watched as light swirled out of the tip of Harry’s wand. Steadily it focused on one point, gaining strength as a shape began to form. Damnit, that pattern thing it was creating was big. So far this witch hadn’t really acted threatening, but, monsters were monsters. Dean really didn’t want to see when this witch… wizard, whatever Harry prefered being called, showed his true colors and attacked. 

It was a shame. Harry seemed like an okay person. 

Okay. Harry was a person that was summoning... Bambi’s ghost. What the hell. 

Of all the things that Harry could have done with his magic. Dean eyed the translucent stag that shimmered prettily in the night. A unicorn would have been only slightly less pathetic in Dean’s opinion. Still, this was what Dean was waiting on. Dean braced Harry further against the tree to ensure that the witch wouldn’t move, for a moment, Dean seriously contemplated shoving the leatherman through Harry’s shoulder and injuring him further. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Merlin, it _hurt_. Harry’d thought that getting shot was bad… granted, this was no crucio, but still, having someone remove a bullet bloody _HURT!_

Quidditch. Harry’s mind latched onto that as he continued to strengthen his patronus. It was something else to think about other than Dean rooting around in his shoulder. Pretty soon Harry was rambling on and babbling about Quidditch. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Bullet out, and Harry patched up with a few magically transfigured bandages, Dean watched the slowly panting wizard… a little more scared now than he had been at the beginning. Vamps would nest together, sometimes two, maybe ten and if a hunter was really unlucky there were more; that much Dean knew. Sometimes werewolves would form small packs. This however was a completely different ball-game. Harry had been babbling on about a friggin’ organized SPORT, that had fucking _evolved_ , with teams and shit. 

The thought of a bunch of monsters hanging out around a tv watching the monster equivalent of baseball creeped Dean out. 

Harry’s left arm was secured to his side. That would stop it from shifting and accidentally causing more harm. While securing Harry’s arm, Dean saw the writing on the back of Harry’s hands. It was hard _not_ to notice. A lightning shaped scar was one thing; the hands, those scars looked like they’d been carved into, repeatedly. That was hardcore. For a moment, Dean contemplated breaking the wand, after all, that’s what Harry had done to every other wand he got his hands on. Dean felt like an ass; he hated witches. They were creepy, unsanitary, and always leaving their bodily fluids everywhere. The worst part was, Dean kept _waiting_ for Harry to drop the nice guy act and show his true colors and act like a real witch. At least _Bambi’s ghost_ had faded back out. 

Still sounding a bit out of it, Harry stated, “Fourteen inches, holly and phoenix feather.” 

“What?” 

“The wand. You were staring.” Harry held the wand up, as though in invitation for Dean to take it. “It’s holly with phoenix feather as it’s core. When I first got it, it _was_ eleven inches, quite a bit smoother and a lot lighter in color… it’s sort of changed some with time.” 

Instead of taking the wand, Dean helped Harry to his feet, then picked up the broom. “Phoenix feather, like, from a real phoenix?” Trying to take Harry out now, would be about the same as stomping on a puppy. It wasn't like the guy had gotten himself _hurt_ saving him... 

“Yes, a real phoenix, as opposed to a fake one.” 

Monsters were monsters. Harry was a witch, and Dean knew how his dad dealt with witches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the wand, the books state that Harry's wand wand is eleven inches long... however, the movie version is fourteen inches long. In the first two movies, the wands are all pretty generic and smooth. The wand ends up with the tree trunk style from the third movie on. I liked the idea of everyone's wand _evolving_ as it is being used. So, this is why Harry's wand matches movie canon instead of book canon.  <3
> 
> One of the stupid things specifically looked up was _Sabrina the Teenage Witch_. My boyfriend said that in 1992 it would be an anachronistic reference for Dean to make... because the Sabrina TV show with Melissa Joan Hart aired in 1996. 
> 
> However, the character of Sabrina debuted as an Archie character in 1962, and also had a cartoon in the 1970's. So, there would have been Archie Collected Comic Digests at any number of gas stations to be stolen, err, _bought_ by Dean for Sammy. Add in the crap TV available in motels, the fact that it's cheaper for local stations to get the license for older crappy cartoons than new ones, and Dean most likely letting Sam watch whatever he wanted just to keep him happy... of course they are going to know about Sabrina (and probably have a low opinion of her too). XD 
> 
> Also, seriously looking forward to next chapter and the introduction of _Archie_. No relation at all to the comics.


	14. Explanations given.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens. People explain some stuff, other's do stuff, and there's an owl that does stuff with it's face.

“I _know_ that time travel sounds daft.” Amy yelled over at John. The impala was parked at the cabin, and Amy was leaned up against the muscle car. Harry was still attached to her side. Keys to the front door were fished from Amy’s bag and tossed to John. “Because other spookety-spooks make so much _more_ sense than someone being able to move backwards and forwards through time.”

“Bullshit. I’ve killed off enough monsters to not worry too much about whether or not the bastards exist. Time-travel on the other hand, not a single fucking peep.” John growled as he shoved the cabin door open. 

Amy murmured something about giving John several pops more than a peep. 

Brightly lit, the Tardis stood in silent vigil next to the cabin. The tarp that had originally been covering the blue box was no longer there. It was the first time Sam had been able to actually see what the Tardis looked like. He didn’t understand what the fuss was about, it was just an old wooden box with some wiring and lights. “Harry and his dad, if they really are time-travellers, they could go back and save my mom. Right?” Sam asked, still staring at the Tardis. 

Once the door to the cabin was opened, there was a mechanical clicking whirr, and what looked like a plastic _thing_ zoomed out. The thing made a beeline towards the impala and dove through an open window. Once inside the vehicle, it landed on Sam’s shoulder while chittering and chirping in a bright excited manner. Stabilizing itself when Sam jumped, the thing immediately tucked itself into the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam shrieked and managed to yelp out a nervous.... “ _ **DaAaad?!**_ ” 

\---------------------------------------- 

Just like riding a motorcycle, that’s what Harry had said. With that same wizard holding onto him, Dean guided the broom through the forest. At least they were flying at _not-quite_ break-neck speeds. Then again, normal motorcycles didn’t fucking fly! 

Harry was beyond running on empty. Right now, the wizard was being a human shield. It was about all he was really capable of other than expending the magic required to give the broom lift. If they encountered any other unfriendly wizards, the spell would hit Harry instead of Dean. 

Every so often, they’d stop and Harry would cast a small locating spell to keep them moving in the right direction. Still moving through the trees, Harry had pointed out that going above the canopy would leave them without cover and again at the mercy of the elements. 

\---------------------------------------- 

“Shoot at the ruddy owl again, and there will be words.” Sam and Harry were now huddled safely in the cabin’s doorway, with Sam peering out warily at the small plastic _owl_ flopping around helplessly on the driveway gravel. Bones was practically dancing around the owl, and taking playful nips at it. Amy was in John’s face, threatening the much larger man. “It’s fifty-first century tech, at the very least…Think of that toy as the most hopped up version of a nanny-cam you can imagine. 

“You,” Amy pointed at the owl, “inside. Kitchen counter. Don’t even let it cross your wee processors to even attempt landing on a kid. You scared Sam, and poor little Harry’s mentally checked out completely. 

“Congratulations Mr. Winchester, looks like tonight you are going to get time-travel proof in spades." 

\---------------------------------------- 

Having been essentially put in charge of Harry, Sam ushered his friend further into the cabin. Sam was more than a little unsure right now. After all, if Amy was telling the truth about time-travel and Harry, then it stood to reason that the wizard saving Dean was an older version of Harry. The thought that Harry might be evil made Sam’s head hurt. 

With all the insanity going on around them, Sam was pretty grateful that his dad hadn’t had time to think about yelling at him for having run away. 

Up on the counter was the plastic owl. At least Sam figured it was an owl since that was what Amy had been calling it. It looked a little like a highly stylized baby horned owl… made of plastic with screens for eyes that kept flashing a cartoonishly adorable beating heart animation at him. Amy said it was from the future, from the fifty-first century, maybe. 

The owl was shoved to the side, where it chittered angrily at Amy as she dropped several first aid kits on the counter where it had been flapping. Amy glanced over at the as of yet still very unhelpful John, and sighed. 

“Four years from now, in 1996, will be the first time I meet the Doctor… Harry’s dad. I was twelve years old, and the flighty idiot only stuck around for less than an hour before disappearing.” Amy quasi explained _at_ John while rummaging through one of the many first aid kits tucked away in the cabin. More and more, Amy reminded Sam of a _Hunter_. She’d managed to get inside without resorting to asking John for any assistance. Which was pretty impressive considering her now severe limp. “In 2008, the Doctor came back and stopped an alien race called the Atraxi from _torching the entire planet_. They were looking for an escaped prisoner of theirs, and you know how american cops will chuck tear gas canisters into a residence, well, Atraxi equivalent of that is blowing up planets. The baddie was caught, and just when Rory and I thought everything was going to go back to normal… the Doctor up and tells the Atraxi to get their arses back so he could have words with them. You can imagine how _concerned_ Rory and I were when the Atraxi were heading off back to their planet… they were leaving, and the Doctor calls them back to scold for threatening Planet Earth. 

“It wasn’t until two years later that I finally met the Doctor’s adopted _teenage_ son; Harry Potter. A little wizard, the last heir of an old and powerful wizarding family... orphaned as a baby, at the end of a war amongst wizards, his parents being the last casualties of the war. Poor Harry turned bright red, stuttered and tried to duck out when he walked in on me trying to snog his dad.” Looking up at John, Amy smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “It’s through Harry, that Rory and I met _your_ Sam and Dean, and they grow up gorgeous. I worked as a model for several years, and I swear Dean was about to deck my agent because he kept wanting to sign him.” 

"So that's a witch those other freaks are after." John's gun was now leveled on the small boy, all but hidden, next to Sam. "Sammy, get away from that thing." 

\---------------------------------------- 

Harry screamed in pain when the spell hit him square on. The broom he'd been flying with Dean spun out of control as Harry convulsed. Dean was sent sprawling across the ground, and rolled to rest, tree roots jutting up awkwardly in his side. Twisting, Dean turned to see in time when another spell was thrown at them. It was an angry shade of red that hit the still convulsing Harry, Dean was sure that if Harry had been capable of screaming again, the wizard would be. 

A small part of Dean was ashamed of the gratitude he felt about the Deatheaters actively targeting Harry. Just those few screams and Harry's reactions, _those_ told Dean that there was no way in hell that he'd be able to handle that kind torture. 

Dean brought up his gun and took aim at the Deatheater. His stomach bottomed out when it did nothing other than click uselessly. 

The cartridge was empty. 

They were helpless. 

Even with Harry still trying to move, to protect them, Dean could see the Deatheater. The dark robes rustling in the stormy night breeze. 

\---------------------------------------- 

“Dad, Harry’s not dangerous. He’s just a kid.” Sam was already instinctively moving between his dad and Harry. They’d been friends for a week, and in all that time, Harry hadn’t ever shown the slightest sign of aggression, if anything, Harry tended to run... Sam blinked, and moved so that he was _actively_ shielding the child wizard from his father. “Harry’s a dumb kid that has nightmares and gets scared of stupid movies.” 

This _Harry_ wasn’t dangerous. Sam wasn’t entirely sure about the one with Dean, but, “Dad, if the wizard with Dean really is a grown up Harry… what’ll happen to _Dean_ if you hurt Harry as a little kid? Those Deatheaters are still out there.” 

It was almost as if that was what the small owl was waiting for. The toy hopped across the counter, tail feathers fluffed, and hooted excitedly. Bright eyes, that had been flashing animated hearts, flickered in what Sam assumed was a blink. Another hoot, and the owl leaned forward; light projected from those eyes, creating a ghostly image in front of everyone... It was like that moment in Star Wars when R2-D2 showed Luke the message from Princess Leia. Except instead of a space princess it was his brother, Dean, there in the light, with Harry. "How's it... What's it..." Sam asked, watching the flickering projection as a flash of red light nailed Harry and the two teens were sent sprawling across the forest floor. 

"Sam asked a question, Archimedes is trying to answer." Sounding more than a bit worried, her breath hitching in the back of her throat, Amy stated. "That's a live holographic feed with Harry as the transmitter." 

The image went fuzzy as the older Harry contorted in pain. Instead of screams, a coarse raspy cry could be heard clearly from the owl sitting on the kitchen counter. The tortured sound echoed loudly, a harsh contrast against the relative peace and quiet allowed by the cabin’s dubious sanctuary. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Futilely, Dean pulled the trigger a few more times out of sheer frustration. Like before, nothing happened. Next to Dean, Harry was on his side, still gasping and barely conscious. By now the glasses Harry wore were broken, and sitting askew on the wizard's face. 

Dean closed his eyes when the dark wizard that had felled them both, raised it's wand. 

" _ **Avada--**_ "


	15. It's not easy being Dean.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light at the end of the tunnel is visible. Then stuff happened, and no one is going to be happy.

"You boys alright?"

That was the _last_ thing that Dean expected to hear. Blinking disbelievingly, Dean opened his eyes. Bloodied sword in hand, and dead wizard at his feet, there stood Rory. Dean blinked again. It had to be a hallucination. Rory. Bloody sword. Dead wizard. Nothing was adding up to any plausible or even sane scenario that Dean could imagine. 

Rory quickly wiped the blood off the sword on the dead wizard's robes before going over to Dean and Harry. "Rory Williams," he formally introduced himself with a cursory handshake, "pleasure to _officially_ make your acquaintance Dean Winchester." 

Not knowing what else to do, Dean took the offered hand. "Uhm, yeah, likewise." 

Sword dropped, Rory knelt next to Harry and pulled him up into a seated position. "Were you hit by any of their spells?" Rory asked Dean, his voice filled with an almost tactile concern that John never allowed to slip. “You’re alright?” 

“Yeah, I mean… Yeah I’m fine. _Sabrina_ patched me up, after that, those freaks didn’t get a chance to nail me.” Brushing himself off a bit, Dean half crawled, half shuffled over to where Rory was kneeling with Harry. “Careful.” Dean warned. “That witch’s supposed to pack a punch.” 

Harry made a barely coherent threat about hexing Dean, and Rory couldn’t help the chortle that escaped. “Yep. That he does--” Pausing, Rory inspected the makeshift bandages. Then took a closer look at Dean. “You patched _him_ up? That’s not a _bad_ bit of field dressing. Not _great_ , but not bad… and you’re… fine. How?” 

Dean shrugged. "He summoned Bambi's ghost." 

\---------------------------------------- 

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Amy did her best to ignore the glare she was getting from John. Sam and Harry had been moved over to the sofa. It was a safe-ish enough location that kept the two boys in John's line of sight. By now Harry's scar had stopped bleeding, its edges bright red, though it still looked very angry and raw. At least there was no new blood. 

Harry was curled up next to Sam. Whether Harry had honestly fallen asleep or simply passed out was up for debate. 

The ghost comment that had come through the owl had Sam's attention. Expectant hazel eyes turned towards Amy. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Follow the path, that's what Dean was told after being handed a new gun to replace the one with a spent clip. Before disappearing on them again, presumably to finish tracking down the remaining Deatheaters, Rory pointed out a vague pathway. It looked like something large had been dragged relatively recently through here. This was supposed to take them back to the cabin where everyone was meeting up. 

They were back on the broom again. What Dean didn't know was how the guy kept that thing up. Harry was barely in any shape to even move, much less fly, but flying was easier than walking... And Dean wasn't sure that he'd be able to haul Harry all the way back to the cabin. Not that they were moving anywhere near the previous speeds, which was something Dean was immensely grateful for. 

Through the tree branches, Dean could finally see the cabin. In the driveway was his dad’s car, the Impala. In Dean’s opinion, nothing had ever looked quite that awesome. 

Still several yards from the cabin, Harry brought the broom to a stop and motioned for Dean to dismount. John was in the doorway. Unsteady himself, Harry dismounted and the broom fell to the ground. Wand tucked into his back pocket, Harry grinned brightly down at Dean despite being completely exhausted. “Up.” It wasn't something that Harry really thought about, the action was almost as natural to him as breathing. Hand waved over the broom, a simple command, and it flew _up_ into his hand. Two more steps, and Harry's legs gave out and sent the wizard to the ground with a shocked gasp. 

\---------------------------------------- 

At the window, in what had to have been the same spot Harry, _young Harry_ , had been that morning... now with a thick line of salt across the sill to ensure nothing evil could pass, Sam watched through the glass as Dean and the grown version of Harry arrived. Seeing this in person was much different than seeing it projected by the plastic owl. What terrified Sam was the casual use of magic to pick up that strange broom; just a wave of the hand and a single word. What exactly _was_ Harry capable of? 

\---------------------------------------- 

The next few moments flew by Dean in a flash. One moment he'd been trying to help Harry back up to his feet so they could get to the cabin. Next, his dad had pulled him away from Harry, yelling about him helping a witch and shoved Dean behind him, back several feet. A gun was in Harry's face. 

That's when it happened. 

Dean hadn't thought anything of being shoved near the blue box. It was a paneled blue wooden box that said _'Police Box'_ across the top. 

Without warning or provocation, the Tardis fell over, and landed squarely on Dean. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Everyone was running. Sam was out the door like a shot, in seconds he was next to his dad… next to the blue box. Even Amy had manage to hobble as far as the door. If there was any chance to save Dean, they were going to try. 

“Help him!” Sam all but pleaded as he looked back at Harry. “Please! He’s my brother…I can’t lose him too.” 

“She would have opened her doors to let him in.” Even though Harry was moving pained and sluggishly, he was going to them. “We just have to tip her back up, and Dean can step out. Tardis, safest place in the universe… only place safer is the Pandorica, or maybe a Void ship.” Harry was kneeling now, and trying to get a grip on the Tardis along with Sam and John to right it. 

The Tardis rocked beneath their efforts. 

“Dean’s safe?” Sam grunted, his fingers grasping the wooden frame and trying to lift it as Harry joined them. “In there?” 

Harry grinned. “Perfect--” The grin faded when he heard the engines start up. It was that unmistakable whoosh, almost worp sort of sound. The Tardis’s lights began to dim in conjunction with the noise. “ _Merlin._ She’s moving. Let her go!” Harry fell flat on his ass. 

The sound of the engines only made John and Sam more frantic to upright the Tardis and get Dean. “You _just_ said that he was _safe!_ ” Sam yelled at Harry. 

“He is--” Harry reconsidered reasoning with his friend and John. There wasn’t time; Harry remembered what Jack Harkness looked like after clinging to the side of the Tardis while it traveled through the vortex. Another spell, and he’d be out. John would probably kill him for throwing a spell at either of them. 

Winchesters were worth it. 

They were so worth it. 

\---------------------------------------- 

On the floor, Dean stared in shock at the industrial grated metal beneath his hands. He took a few shaky breaths, not yet trusting himself to stand. After all, a frikkin’ HUGE BOX decided to fall on him. 

Gathering his wits, Dean stood and looked around. The room he was in was large. Instincts kicked in, and he ran for the door. Dean jiggled the doorknob and found it locked. 

Dean was currently standing on a walkway with metal safety rails on both sides. The walkway ran from the door to a large landing, where it branched off from there to various other doors. In the middle of the room was a large lighted central column with what might be a control panel, if control panels were assembled by lunatics. Was that a bicycle pump in there? Dean blinked. Yes, there was a bicycle pump right next to a horn. Buttons and switches littered the panel, some of them blinking brightly in coordination with the central column. 

The walls themselves didn’t look quite right, an orangey coral-ish color with the texture to boot. Not that Dean was an expert on coral, never having been to a beach, but it was what he imagined coral might be like. 

“Dean Winchester, please insert the rapid return disk into the control panel.” A vaguely familiar electronic voice echoed through the room. The voice was accompanied by… well, himself. Faded out, and somewhat fuzzy, the central column projected an image of Dean. Expressionless, Fake-Dean stood there, hand extended palm up. The image of a disk appeared, slowly spinning above the fake’s hand. The disk looked like an ordinary unlabeled compact disk. “Dean Winchester, please insert the rapid return disk into the control panel.” It repeated. 

Wary, Dean walked around his desaturated doppleganger, his weapon drawn and aimed. “What the hell are you?” 

The doppleganger turned to stare with the same impassive expression at Dean for a short moment before returning its gaze to the central column. “I am the Tardis’s holographic voice interface. Please insert the rapid return disk into the control panel.” 

“Interface for what?” Dean poked the muzzle of the gun through the hologram. “And why the fuck you look like me?” 

“Interface for Tardis. The holographic voice interface allows limited access to the Tardis systems. If another form is desired for interaction, please specify preferences now.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“ _‘What’_ is not a valid option amongst the provided user preferences. Dean Winchester, please insert the rapid return disk into the control panel.” 

Dean made a half-hearted attempt to grab the glowing disk from the hologram. It was then that the hologram gave Dean what could only be described as an impish smirk that looked completely foreign on Dean’s features. “Did you really think that was going to work?” On what passed as a control panel, the lights and switches seemingly flickered and blinked in what Dean swore was a fucking giggle. 

With a wink, the hologram switched off, only to reappear at the console, the impassive expression was back. The hologram pointed to a long slender slot on the furthest panel. It wasn’t a normal point either, and Dean wasn’t sure if that made him more or less annoyed. The damn thing used two fingers like a guide in an amusement park… not that Dean ever had a chance to go to one of those either. 

A small beam of light hit a bookshelf that Dean hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“Dean Winchester, please insert the rapid return disk into the control panel.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

Harry’s mind raced. Limited time, and his magic running pretty much on hypothetical fumes. There was only time for one spell. Vivid green eyes darted back and forth between both Winchesters. 

This was going to suck, big time. 

“ _ **Impedimenta!**_ ” Whipping his wand from where it’d been tucked in his back pocket, Harry slashed at the air in John’s direction. John was thrown both several feet upwards and back from the Tardis. 

With John taken care of, Harry tackled Sam. 

Even if he hadn’t been half dead and exhausted, Harry knew he wasn’t a match for Sam at any age. Harry hoped to at least be able to knock Sam from away from the Tardis, and prepared himself mentally to have his ass kicked by a nine year old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looked up the history of the compact disk. Wasn't sure whether or not Dean would know what one was since this is 1992... After all, I _think_ I got my first CD (and boom box!) around 1994. I'm guessing that Dean has been looking longingly at CDs in the store; why does it make me giggle uncontrollably to think of Dean inside a _Sam Goody_?


	16. When Dean met the Doctor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets some answers. Maybe.

**_Chapter 16_ **

Sam rolled across the rain-soaked ground with Harry. When they came to a stop, Sam was ready to deck the wizard… only to find that Harry was already out cold. 

The Tardis made that strange worp-sound, and faded from view. Dean was in the Tardis, and the Tardis was gone. 

“Liar!” Sam screamed at the unconscious form of Harry, pounding his fists down futilely on the wizard’s chest. “You said Dean was safe! It’s _your_ fault!” 

\---------------------------------------- 

A low hum thrummed through the room Dean was in. For a moment, it reminded Dean a little of being in an elevator. Dean managed to duck behind the console when the door was thrown open and some college aged guy was roughly shoved in, followed shortly by a man with bright blue eyes and big ears wearing a leather jacket, and a woman in pink and black with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. The door slammed behind them. 

That one brief moment when the door had been open, Dean could have sworn it looked like a wigged out food court on the other side. One thing for certain, it sure as hell wasn’t Flagstaff, AZ. 

“It all worked out for the best, didn’t it?” The younger man poorly tried protesting his rough treatment. “You know, it’s not actually my fault, because you were in charge.” 

The man in the leather jacket stalked over to the control panel and threw a lever before moving back to and out the door, not once relinquishing his grip on the younger squirming man. 

It was the woman who stopped momentarily and looked back. “Harry, luv, you playing hide and seek, yeah?” She nervously bit her lower lip, large eyes lined with a shade too much liner glanced at where Dean was still hiding, then back to the door. Muttering under her breath, the woman took a step towards the center column and quietly clicked her tongue. “ _I reeeeally hope you were in here for all that Jagrafess commotion…_ ” 

“It’s my house. I’m home!” The happy voice came from the other side of the door, presumably from the man being manhandled outside. Dean crouched and managed to get a peek out. He could make out a wooden floor, and white walls… nothing that matched the previous sight of cold metal on metal he’d seen before, or the driveway for the cabin in Flagstaff. “Blimey, I thought you were going to chuck me out of an airlock…” 

The woman dropped her ‘investigation’ of the area where Dean was currently hiding and jogged on out to where the conversation was taking place. Stuff like, changing the world, and opening heads… things like that normally weren’t good. 

\---------------------------------------- 

“Blinovitch Limitation--” Rory sighed in annoyance. “Look, it's a scientific theory from the late twenties regarding time-travel. Specifically, what happens when a single object or person interacts with itself from two separate points in it’s own timeline.” He was seated next to the sofa where the older and still unconscious Harry had been brought to… Amy had attempted to take the child version to the next room, and was met with opposition from John who wanted both ‘ _witches_ ’ where he could keep an eye on them. “Keep both older and younger Harry too close to each other, and temporal energy is going to build up.” 

“Give it a bit more time,” Amy all but glared at John, “and we’ll be able to start seeing that energy soon enough. It’s a lovely shade of blue.” 

Using the owl, Archimedes as it turned out the proper name was, Rory brought up a screen about the older Harry. The screen was filled with medical-ly looking information, little squiggly lines, blips and numbers. Apparently knowing what he was looking for, Rory scrolled through pages and stats. “Other than being absolutely, completely knackered and having been shot… Harry’s about as healthy as expected. Which is good.” 

Stalking like a predator in the room, John kept a watchful eye on everyone, his gun still in hand. “Someone mind giving me a damn good reason that thing is still breathing. Especially after that stunt it pulled outside?” 

“Try, because he’s not evil.” Rory was looking through the first aid kits, searching for something specific. Eventually it seemed that Rory located what he’d been interested in; the jet-injector. A small red vial was inspected before being slotted into the injector, and the nozzle placed against Harry’s shoulder near the bullet wound. Trigger pulled, within seconds, the vial’s contents were emptied into the unconscious wizard. 

On one screen, a set of numbers were pointed out to Amy by Rory. "Wife, be a dear and keep an eye on those. Anything over 150, or under 75, let me know." 

"Holding steady at 120." Amy sat near enough to keep an eye on the screen. "Sam, sweetie, if you start seeing a crackling blue energy, please move Harry into the next room." She paused a moment before adding... "The little one, I mean." 

\---------------------------------------- 

A kid on the Tardis. 

Rose tilted her head and gave the kid a questioning look. “You’re from the Satellite, right? I bet Harry let him on-board. We’ll just nip back and switch kids.” Settling into a relaxed slump against the main console panel, and nibbling her lower lip, Rose broke into a wide bright smile. She turned her attention back onto Dean. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back home. I’m Rose, and mister grumpy over there is called the Doctor. What’s your name?” 

Since it wasn’t everyday for a random kid to wander onto the Tardis, Rose and the Doctor had made the natural assumption that the extra passenger was Harry. Except now, there was a strange kid aboard, a kid who was very obviously _not_ Harry. The Doctor paced, and looked at Dean as though he could see right through him… see everything that Dean had ever done, every thing that Dean will do. 

“Dean.” Dean was still keeping as much distance as he could between himself and Rose and the Doctor, ready to break into a full sprint if necessary. “I’m not from a Satellite.” 

The Doctor walked around a very nervous Dean, making the teen feel smaller than he had ever felt before. From a pocket the Doctor brought out his sonic screwdriver and scanned their intruder. With the tip still extended and lit, the Doctor examined the readings before he threw a heated glare at Dean. “Fine, Mr. _Not-From-A-Satellite-Dean_ … How did you get on my Tardis, and where is Harry?” 

Dean swallowed. “Look, I don’t know what the hell happened… One minute I’m in Arizona on the run from freaks, next this box falls on me and Flagstaff is fucking gone.” 

“Oi, _language!_ ” Rose snapped. 

“You’re one to talk.” The Doctor quipped back at Rose. 

“Yeah, well. He’s a snot nosed little punk. If mum had caught me swearing like that at that age, she’d have tanned my hide.” Hopping up from where she was leaning against the control panel, Rose sat on a relatively clear section. “Besides, he’s lying. How can the Tardis _fall_ on him? It was parked, and all keys are accounted for; unless Harry’s started taking the old girl for joyrides.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

When the blue crackling energy had materialized, just as Amy warned, they’d moved the younger (past?) Harry to the other room. The energy dissipated rather quickly after that. Sam was given the option of staying, for the moment, in the bedroom with the young Harry or coming out into the living room. Amy commented that as long as no one disturbed him, Harry would sleep the rest of the night; apparating was difficult, and even drained those trained to do so. 

John gave the room a thorough inspection, to make sure the child-witch wasn’t going to escape, and to make sure there weren’t any surprises. An eyebrow was raised at the bed curtains when Amy tried to close Harry off. “Leave them open.” 

The curtains were closed. 

“I said, leave them open. Bad enough that witch-kid is still here, I’m not letting it hide behind some curtains to do only lord knows what mischief.” 

“He’s a child, and completely knackered. They stay closed.” Amy turned, and stared down John. Crossing her arms, Amy stood in the way to prevent the hunter from just ripping the curtains open, or worse, off. “Harry is prone to nightmares and feels safer in enclosed spaces. Unless you _really_ want a young, untrained wizard waking in the middle of the night and having a bout of accidental magic because he’s scared… then be my guest. Otherwise, the curtains, stay closed.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

“The Tardis has moved.” The Doctor stated scanning one of the screens. “For at least a week, she’s been in Flagstaff, Arizona… 1992.” Stepping back, the Doctor took a second longer, scathing, glare at Dean as something seemed to _click_ into place. “Dean Winchester, son of John Winchester? Got a kid brother named Sam?” 

\---------------------------------------- 

The older version of Harry still hadn’t regained complete consciousness when Sam, John and Amy emerged from the other room. Rory was busy maneuvering the unresponsive wizard into a set of clean and slightly oversized pajamas that presumably belonged to Rory originally. On the coffee table, next to the re-packed first-aid kit, was Harry’s original grey, long-sleeved and blood-stained shirt along with a set of muddied jeans and socks; all rather haphazardly folded. Archimedes kept itself busy hopping along the back of the sofa, intently keeping a watchful eye on Harry. 

What was presumably the contents of the jean’s pockets were neatly laid out next to the edge of the table, near the jeans, along with Harry’s wand. It was an eclectic mix of items. The wallet was expected, and maybe the small keyring; but the jelly-beans (labeled Bertie Bot’s) seemed a little odd. There were also a few folded bits of paper (one of which looked like a carnival flyer, the other might have been a small wanted poster), some gold and silver coins, and a set of silver rings. How everything had originally managed to fit into the jeans pocket was a mystery to Sam, then again, since Harry was a wizard, magic probably had something to do with it. Nothing, again aside from the wand, looked terribly magical… it was all a little too normal in appearance at first glance. 

Though, what was probably the strangest thing on the table, other than the wand itself, was a weird thing that looked like it might be a hearing aid? Sam tried to think if Harry had hearing problems on top of being near-sighted. 

“I should have asked this before.” Rory perked when his wife came into view. “Since Sam’s being packed up tonight… we should probably run a load of laundry, or two. Harry’s stuff needs to be washed anyway.” 

Amy and Rory were calmly talking about laundry. A kettle had been put on the stove for tea, and Rory volunteered himself to escape, err, start the wash much to Amy’s amused annoyance. Turning to John, Amy gave him a smile. “When tea’s ready we can start that chat. 

“Would you rather talk at the table, or in the living room with the passed out wizard?” 

Rory poked his head in from the next room where he’d been gathering the wash. “Actually, he’s not really passed out… he’s just been highly medicated, for his own good. You know how Harry is.” 

“Right.” Amy corrected herself. “Table, or with the drugged wizard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I was struggling with writer's block... at one point I ended up writing almost a full chapter and a half before deciding that wasn't adding anything _useful_ to the story. It was clever and cool as heck, but since my name isn't Moffat, I'm not going to go the clever route just for cleverness sake. Things are convoluted enough as it is.  <3


	17. Mauve.

The clothes were removed, and went into the wash along with everything else Rory was cleaning. Now on the coffee table was a tray with tea, coffee and sugar cookies, though Amy referred to them as biscuits instead of cookies. The stuff from Harry’s pockets was still out in plain view for John to inspect at his leisure. In Sam’s hands was a warm mug of hot cocoa instead of coffee or tea. Archimedes all but danced across the back of the sofa.

Not once did John bother offering to relinquish his weapon. 

Sam quietly sipped at his hot chocolate while Harry dozed in a drug assisted sleep. A blanket had been brought out by Rory and draped over the sleeping form. Sitting on the floor, Sam examined Harry. He could see the similarities between the two; the older and younger versions of the wizard. It was the same messy black almost blue hair that refused to lay flat… same nose, jawline… everything, down to the scar that still looked brand new. Aside from a few scrapes and scratches that Harry had picked up that night and the missing glasses, it really wasn't a stretch to believe that they were the same person from different points in life. 

For a moment Sam wondered if this was like any of those wildlife documentaries he’d watch in the middle of the night when nothing better was on tv, and the only other options were infomercials or porn viewed throw snow. Documentaries where dangerous creatures like tigers and lions were sedated for veterinarians to safely work on. If Harry woke, would there be mad scrambling to put him under again for everyone's safety... Or worse, would his dad simply decide that a grown wizard was too dangerous to live? 

Amy settled down on the sofa. With a pillow in place, Amy maneuvered Harry so his head was now in her lap. “I know you’ve got questions. Since we’re not in danger anymore, now is the time to ask them.” 

“There are some things we won’t talk about, tho.” Rory poured his wife a cup of tea and passed it off to her on a delicate saucer. "Mostly time-travel or future stuff is taboo. The universe really doesn't like it when people go out of their way to cause paradoxes." 

John glared, then growled, obviously frustrated with how collected and calm the Ponds were. “Fine. So where the hell is my son, or is that a taboo subject?” 

“In the Tardis.” Rory started, but was then cut off by Amy. 

“Dean is in the Tardis. It’s a time traveling space-ship that looks like a 1960’s british police box. You know, that big blue box that fell on him outside.” Saucer in one hand, Amy sipped at her tea with a quirky smile. “There’s a quick-return feature that’s supposed to take it back to the previous landing site… the Tardis most likely got Dean to activate the protocols for that feature. Long story short, several thousand years in the future on a satellite orbiting Earth, Dean is about to meet the Doctor, Harry’s dad." 

“The Doctor will bring Dean back.” Rory assured John. Last thing any of them wanted was an irate hunter going off right now, especially one that was currently armed. 

“Right, and if this _Doctor_ doesn’t bother showing up?” 

Amy and Rory glanced at each other as though making a decision. “Harry is his son.” Rory stated. “The Doctor will be here… twice. Once for each version of Harry. At least one of them will bring Dean with him.” 

From Amy’s lap, Harry mumbled something about his dad and Dean on the Tardis. It took a strong jab to get Harry to even bother opening his eyes. His pupils were heavily dilated with a ring of bright green. With a sniffle, Harry lazily rolled onto his side, his eyes half-closed. “Hmmm?” 

“What was that about your Dad, Dean and the Tardis?” Amy pressed for information from the wizard. 

Harry groaned in annoyance then managed to mumble. “dad wasn’t happy ‘bout a hunter in th’ Tardis… went off about stupid violent apes…” Turning over onto his stomach, Harry hid his face with an arm. With large animated hearts in its eyes again, Archimedes took advantage and cozied up to Harry's side with a happy warble. The small plastic owl was soon pulled up closer for a snuggle, and ended up nuzzled against Harry's cheek. 

\---------------------------------------- 

“Stupid, violent, arrogant apes…” The Doctor shoved Dean back into a seat. “You, Winchester, move from that spot, and I _leave_ you on the moon.” 

“Doctor, what’s wrong?” Rose looked from the Doctor to Dean. “E’s just a kid.” 

“That,” the Doctor pointed accusingly at Dean before throwing a lever on the control panel causing the entire Tardis to lurch violently to the left like a drunken party-girl staggering home after a late night, “isn’t just a kid. _That_ is a _hunter_ , and hunters hunt down anything slightly out of the ordinary, slightly different, anything special or unique and blindly murder it. Doesn’t matter what it is, they track, and hunt and kill.” Another lever was pulled, and a large metal crank made a loud grating, rattling sound as it was tugged clockwise. “Even if the poor thing isn’t a threat.” 

The Tardis heaved back to the right hard enough to throw Dean from his seat. Dean skittered back as quickly as he could, since he didn’t really trust this Doctor person to _not_ leave him on the moon. 

Dean was once again tossed from the seat he’d been ordered into by the Doctor. The Tardis lurched. At the control panel the Doctor was throwing switches like a madman. Something had hit the Tardis a few seconds ago. Now, their destination had changed. They were chasing thing that hit them, and Dean had no idea what it was. 

“Doctor, what’s the emergency?” Rose asked, barely managing to stay on her feet as she curiously watched the Doctor. 

“It’s Mauve.” Was the reply, as though that made any sense. 

Even Rose gave the man a strange look. “Mauve?” 

“The universally recognized color for danger.” 

“What about Red?” Dean asked, hesitantly. “Isn’t that the color of danger?” 

The Doctor threw an annoyed glare at Dean. “That’s only humans. By everyone else’s standards, red’s camp. Oh the misunderstandings. All those red alerts; all that dancing.” Another set of switches was thrown. “Right. It’s got a very basic flight computer. I’ve hacked in, slaved the Tardis. Where that goes, we go.” 

Now Rose didn’t look all that certain about this course of events. “An’ that’s safe, is it?” Concern tinted the blond’s voice. 

“Totally.” A loud bang against the side of the Tardis made the two humans jump. The entire Tardis leaned dangerously to the left. Rose yelped when water rushed into the room, drenching the occupants before it drained. “Okay, Reasonably. Should have said reasonably there…” 

Wet hair was shoved out of her face, and Rose wiped at her ruined make-up. “Was that the pool?” Rose squeezed the excess water from her hair. 

“That? Oh yeah.” The Doctor’s attention was focused on his monitor when he abruptly shouted. “No! No… no… NO! It’s jumping time tracks, getting away from us.” 

Rose shivered slightly, by now Dean had been all but forgotten. “What exactly is this thing?” 

“No idea.” 

That answer didn’t seem to sit well with Rose. She exhaled sharply through grit teeth. “Then why in the bloody hell are we chasing _it_ and not fetching Harry?!” 

“It’s mauve, and dangerous.” The Doctor frowned, his tone completely serious. “And about thirty seconds from the center of London.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

The night wore on… and John grew more frustrated with the Willams. The one highlight was that they confirmed the existence of the _Colt_. Everything else was a dead-end. John only had to hear _‘spoilers’_ once to be annoyed by it. Sitting at the dining table, John went about with maintenance on his hunting gear, not that it was in any terrible need. 

“You should eat. It’s been a long night.” Rory stated. A plate with warm soup and sandwiches was set near the hunter. Shortly afterwards followed a gladius and whetstone. Rory sat, and began to sharpen his sword in silence. 

The silence was eventually broken by Rory with a sigh. “Time is fluid. The outcome of any given situation, with a few notable exceptions, can be changed. Unless you’re told something, and then actively seek to create a paradox. And that’s why we really aren’t talking about the future.” 

John looked up from his clip. “Oh really? I think you’re talking out your ass.” 

“Fine. Perfect example, because it’s already happened, has yet to happen, and will in effect cause itself to happen. In another fifteen years or so, Dean will be sent back to 1973. It’s not with any of us, or Harry, or the Doctor. Something else sends him. Something quite powerful, and thankfully, friendly for the most part.” Rory reflected light off the edge of the blade, visually inspecting the gladius’ sharpness. 

“Bullshit. Dean would have...” 

“Dean would have what? Gone to you and Mary, and warn you? Save the day and let everyone live happily ever after? He _was_ **actively** sent to where you and Mary lived. You met him. He’s the bloke that pointed out the 67’ impala instead of the mini-van in the car lot.” 

Horror dawning, John stared at Rory. 

“Are you starting to understand _why_ we don’t talk about serious issues? You learn things that you wish you had never known… Parents should never know when their children pass on. And yet, Amy and I know exactly how, when, and why our _only_ daughter dies. It’s not like either of us can turn around and ask her to not save a few thousand people, and her husband to boot, at the expense of her own life.” 

Rory put the ancient sword back into its scabbard, and lay them on the table. “Now, the real question is. Knowing that if you are told what happens, that moment becomes a locked event; do you really want any of us talking about serious issues?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the timeline of my fic requires it... I have magically decreed that the order of series 1 of Doctor Who is now slightly different. The episodes now play out in this order:
> 
> \- Father's Day  
> \- Dalek  
> \- The Long Game  
> \- The Empty Child  
> \- The Doctor Dances
> 
>    
> The rest of the series plays out in the correct order. <3
> 
> Also... sorry, sort of posting without a beta again. *sigh* When the chapters are edited, I'll repost.


	18. Then there were more.

Eventually Rory went off to sleep, but not before ensuring that there was a place for John to sleep; a precaution in the event that the Doctor didn't show up that night. Rory pointed out that sometimes the Doctor wasn't very punctual. Reinette Poisson was brought up as an example of this, though Rory declined to elaborate other than stating that bananas were not something usually found in 18th century France, much less have in daiquiris at the Yew Tree Ball at Versailles.

The only other sound in the room, other than that of John cleaning his gear was the soft sound of Harry's breathing as he slept. John walked over and watched the sleeping witch for a moment before aiming his glock at Harry's head. What stopped him from shooting, was the thought of what some freak might do to Dean if this witch died here and now. 

In the witch’s hands was that plastic owl. The owl wasn’t doing anything, and seemed to be powered down for the time being, or whatever that thing was supposed to do instead of sleep. 

Gathering his equipment together, John stowed everything back in his bag, the journal safely set on top of everything else. The dirty dishes from the soup and sandwich went into the sink. 

Not that John was particularly interested in sleeping. What he wanted to do was stay up and alert for when that Doctor person showed up. Instead, John went to check on Sam. 

It was while John was checking on Sam that he heard it. A sound similar to the one made by the blue box when it disappeared with Dean. That wooshing worp-sound. John gave Sam one last glance, then stepped out of the bedroom. 

On the sofa, Harry sat up, his dark hair sticking up in just about every single direction. “Dad?” Harry said in a groggy voice, still obviously half asleep. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Behind starry curtains, Harry stirred at the sound of the Tardis appearing. 

Sam managed to peer over the bunk bed's side in time to see Harry pulling the curtains out of the way. A worried look was given up to Sam from the young wizard. "I think my dad's come for me." 

\---------------------------------------- 

Outside the rain had stopped for a while now. Next to the impala, the outline of the Tardis started to slowly come into view. The light on top, glowed brightly and old fashioned big band swing music could be heard playing. Glenn Miller, In the Mood. Leaves rustled on the trees as the wind picked up. 

John gave a passing glance at the table where Harry’s possessions had been placed. The wand was gone. The older version of Harry was already at the door, wiping sleep from his eyes. With too long sleeves and hems, the messy haired wizard looked deceptively like a child to John. The hunter noted that Harry had the wand in hand. 

Harry turned, and smiled sheepishly at John when he realized he was being watched. Bright green eyes remained unfocused. “Amy and Rory won’t come out… This version of my dad isn’t supposed to meet them for another couple of years. An, don’t worry.” Harry twitched his wand and bit at his lip nervously, obviously fighting back a yawn. “At most I plan on fixing my glasses, assuming Dean hasn’t lost them on me.” 

A nervous smile, and Harry spoke again. “I hope you realize, I’ve no ruddy idea what expression you’re making at me. I’m really quite near-sighted, so you’re sort of a large featureless blur over there…” 

John didn’t bother acknowledging Harry’s comments. Instead, he reached the door in time to see the Tardis doors swing open. The music hadn’t stopped yet, with the doors open, the big band music was even louder. From his vantage point, John couldn’t see into the blue box. Out stepped a man in full military captain’s uniform, circa the 1940’s, complete with sweeping great coat. The captain was shortly followed by Dean… however, Dean’s clothes were most definitely not the same he’d started out the evening in. In Dean’s hands was the jacket that John had last seen his son wearing, the one that the witch had forced on him. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Stepping out of the Tardis, Jack looked around with an appreciative yet mischievous smile. He checked his vortex manipulator to verify the date. “1992… eh, kind of a boring year.” 

“Not really.” Harry interrupted from the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes but still managed a smile back at Jack. “1992. The Philosopher’s Stone was destroyed a few months back. That was pretty big. Especially considering that Voldemort was after the ruddy thing… which is really surprising that he didn’t get it. Seriously, only an absolute moron sets up a security system that three eleven-year olds can by-pass.” 

Harry’s smiled broadened when he saw Rose and the Doctor come into view as they exited the Tardis. "Dad! Hi! Look, I know that getting places on time is an issue, but really… _this_? This is really pushing it.” 

Pulling one over on his dad was exceedingly hard. The Doctor’s expression told Harry his bad joke hit home with a bull's eye. 

\---------------------------------------- 

It didn’t take long for Harry to fess up to the joke. Rose was the one who smacked Harry upside the back of his head for being a little punk and scaring them like that. The teen told the Doctor how the Tardis had twisted it’s internal time-line to get him here. They’d been dropping some friends off after spending the day at an amusement park; Harry turned back to grab his jacket, and next thing he knew it wasn’t 2014 _or_ London anymore, he was in Arizona… and his scar was acting up. 

Once Dean handed back his jacket, Harry chuckled, and cast a spell to fix the glasses which had been tucked away in the front pocket. The easy spell work drew an upraised eyebrow from John, which Harry promptly ignored. “It hurt really bad, I thought my head might crack open any second. Last time it acted up that badly on it’s own, was when the Weasleys took me to see the Quidditch World Cup.” 

“Don’t worry, Dean.” Harry assured Dean when he noticed the confused expression. “Expect to hear loads about it--” 

“He won’t hear about it.” The Doctor interrupted his son, the Doctor’s tone seethed between grit teeth. “Because you are not friends with these… _Hunters_. I _won’t_ allow it.” 

Sam poked his head out the door in time to hear the Doctor rant on how he wasn’t going to allow his son, Harry, to interact with _Hunters_. As far as the Doctor was concerned, Harry was never to associate with the Winchesters again. The Winchesters were famous for being able to track most anything even remotely magical, and murder it. Harry was a wizard, and should know better. 

Hunters were barbaric. 

Hunters were vicious. 

Hunters were dangerous, and Harry was exactly the sort of thing they killed. Worse, the Winchesters had access to a spell which specifically targeted anyone that wielded psychokinetic energy, regardless of intent. 

\---------------------------------------- 

“Wait. Wait, wait...” Jack silenced everyone, completely derailing the impending argument, and pointed at Dean. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that _freckles_ here is Dean-I-Like-Pie Winchester… The guy that drove around with the _King of Hell_ trapped in the trunk of his car, and used the _First Blade_ to kill not one, but two Knights of Hell--” 

Harry grinned, visibly grateful for the reprieve. “Dean’s pretty awesome at any age. Sam too…” 

“And you’re?” Jack asked as he extended a hand. 

“Harry Potter.” Taking the hand offered, Harry shook it. “And I swear to Merlin, you ask to see the scar, I will hex you.” 

“Oh, Kinky! And totally worth it. So, about that scar?” Jack’s smile broadened into a mischievous grin. 

The spell Harry cast on Jack was a full body bind. 

The efficiency in which it was cast and took effect caught John by surprise. One word and a whipped wand, and Jack Harkness went stiff as a plank and fell over backwards onto the still wet ground. 

Rose yelped, then attempted to scold Harry while simultaneously trying to pick Jack back up... even as John’s gun was once again trained on the young wizard. 

“I’m going to pack up my younger self’s stuff… Dad, Mr. Winchester, please try to not to attack anybody." Harry waved Archimedes over, and the small plastic owl flew to it’s person and landed on Harry’s shoulder. Upon landing, Archimedes hissed at Dean. “Oy you, knock it off… Dean hasn’t done anything to you yet.” 

Archimedes warbled softly, and fluffed it’s non-existent feathers in a huff. While it clearly liked Sam, there was no question on the owl’s feelings towards Dean. 

It was nothing short of a miracle that no one else got hurt that night. The Doctor hadn’t been happy in the slightest that his son had made friends with a _Hunter_. Though, once the younger version of Harry realized his dad wasn’t pleased, the waterworks started… and the young wizard began sobbing and trembling. Despite being held reassuringly, the child was terrified, convinced that he’d done something wrong… and that he’d be sent away, or worse, back to his family. 

As far as little Harry was concerned, it was his fault. He didn’t know what it was. But it was his fault. That’s the way it always was. 

The sight of the Doctor comforting a child on the verge of hysterics was what made John stand down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where oh where has my beta gone... oh where, oh where can she be? 
> 
> Seriously though. Missing my beta. One of these days these chapters will be edited and the dog will come back. 
> 
> Oh, and it's not anyone's imagination. The Doctor, Rose, Dean and Jack all got their own adventure. It just hasn't been written up yet. Woot! <3


	19. Movies!

It didn’t take long for Harry, the older one, to reappear with a bag which was subsequently handed off to Rose. Harry hugged the lively blond, though he did refuse to remove the spell from Jack. As far as Harry was concerned, the berk deserved it, plus, the spell would wear off after a bit. Harry was willing to get Jack into the Tardis. Rose wasn’t certain that was much better.

“Hey, take care with that.” Harry motioned to the bag in Rose’s hand. “There’s a dreamcatcher in there. It’s pretty delicate, and I like it even if it is the wrong colors.” 

“Oh really?” Rose chuckled. “An’ what are the proper colors, pray tell?” 

“Red and gold, of course. Those are the Gryffindor house colors. It’s the same house my parents were sorted into when they went to Hogwarts.” Not interested in using another spell, Harry slid his hands under Jack, and hauled the man up a bit, then dragged him into the Tardis leaving long furrows in the gravel driveway. Harry kept happily chatting with Rose as the Doctor kept a watchful eye on them with the young Harry safely tucked in his arms. Rose commenting that the school sounded posh… Though Harry claimed it was just different. 

With Jack in the Tardis, the Doctor ushered Rose in, and handed the small and still weeping child off to her. In the doorway, Harry, the older one, had a quick and relatively private conversation with his dad before the Doctor also stepped back into the Tardis. The conversation was mostly in regards to getting a biodamper on Harry, and the fact that even though no one liked it, Harry really did _need_ to spend time with the Dursleys. 

“You know they won’t let you back into that house.” The Doctor warned. “There isn’t a way to keep your mum’s spell active.” 

“Yeah well, trust me, the Dursley’s have more of a reason to hate me now. The drill making company that Uncle Vernon manages, Grunnings? I sort of technically purchased it in the early eighties.” Harry stated in a hushed voice. 

“Harry!” Brilliant blue eyes widened as the Doctor looked at Harry in surprise. 

“What? No one said I couldn’t! Plus, it actually was a pretty sound investment.” Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “Just let him know that they don’t have to like me being there; they just have to tolerate my presence for one week a year till I come of age. The Dursleys turn me out, they’ll be made redundant and black listed. Any company, anywhere either of them find a job at, I’ll buy and make them redundant.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

The sound of the Tardis taking off was Amy and Rory’s cue to reappear They emerged in time to see Harry punch a post. With a growl of frustration, Harry punched again, and again, the last time splitting his knuckles. “Sweetie, that bad?” Amy asked in concern. 

“Worse.” Harry sighed sadly but didn’t bother to elaborate more on his outburst. Looked back, noticed Dean, and smiled in amused confusion. “I always wondered where those got off to. I liked that shirt too.” 

Amy blinked, nudged Rory then ushered the Winchesters back inside. “Did Dean eat before going into the Tardis? I know the Doctor, and he can be quite oblivious when it comes to humans, especially when it comes to still growing ones… unless it’s Harry, then he just sort of falls all over himself trying to make sure Harry doesn’t miss out on _human_ experiences. It’s really quite cute. Dean, change of clothes means… you were gone for how long? Because, on my wedding anniversary, Rory’s dad noticed we’d gone traveling since we changed clothes three times. Granted it probably was a good thing that we ended up at in Westminster’s Savoy Hotel in 1890, just opened, and managed to root out an alien invasion. Zygons, tough buggers, they’d already replaced about half the staff by the time we got there. Though, I could have done without accidentally marrying King Henry VIII.” Amy babbled, letting Rory take charge of Harry. “So… Dean, how long were you gone, and when were you?” 

Shoved back inside the cabin, Dean was a little in shock at the barrage of words that came out of Amy. “Air raid, world war two? We were there a few hours. A bomb was about to drop on some alien ambulance. These are Harry’s clothes?” 

“Yeah.” Amy shot back, now moving both Sam and Dean to the stools at the kitchen island. “An’ you’re in them. Care to explain? Only gone a few hours doesn’t require a wardrobe change, least not near past.” 

Dean allowed himself to be distracted and settled at the island along with his brother. “I dunno. The entire room swerved, and a bunch of water came rushing through. Rose asked if it was the pool.” 

Ingredients were pulled from the fridge as they spoke, as Amy pulled information from the young hunter; information that she knew John would appreciate. As a quiche was being made, details about exactly what happened with Dean during his time in 1941 London emerged. It was the sort of stuff Amy knew a child (or young teenager, as Dean would probably complain) would forget to tell. 

With the quiche out of the oven, and served, Dean pressed Amy with questions. An extra plate with a substantially larger portion was also served up to an empty seat, for Harry Amy quickly commented. As a wizard, Harry had an increased appetite to maintain his magic, though it wasn’t anywhere near _rugaru_ levels of consumption. She happily told the boys that she and Rory were now officially _boring_. No more travelling through time. They’d bought a house in New York, and had settled down into about as normal and quiet a life as they could expect in the 1940’s. “I’ve been writing children’s books, and they seem to sell well enough. Rory has a position as a doctor in a hospital. So, yeah. Boring. 

“An’ there’s my boys!” Amy grinned when Rory and Harry walked back in. “You,” the woman singled the wizard out, “sit down and tuck in.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

In the bedroom, Harry had Archimedes project a screen across the entire wall, and now the three boys were watching Guardians of the Galaxy. From the sounds coming out of the bedroom, something told Amy that this was probably not one of the best movies to get kids to fall asleep to… though, even she had to admit that the look on Dean’s face had been amusing when Harry started talking _about_ the movie like anthropomorphic raccoon, a tree that says ‘i am groot’, a boss-fight dance-off… and a main character called Star-Lord. 

Amy confided in John that with Harry and movies, it generally was a toss-up over whether the movie would be good or really, really bad, or one of those exceedingly rare films where it was so terrible that it crossed back into being good. She sort of blamed Dean for Harry’s eclectic taste in films. For the most part Wizards didn’t go to picture shows, neither did the Doctor. Harry’s mum thought films were a waste of time; which left only one major influential source in Harry’s life. Sam and Dean, with the latter being the one with rather questionable taste when it came to entertainment. 

“Anything productive from your little chat? Harry’s normally so much more well adjusted. It’s not like him to act up.” Amy asked in hushed tones while she and Rory worked at clearing the kitchen. 

Wiping down the kitchen island, Rory nodded. “Unfortunately. Yes. There’s a bit much, and I’m not sure where to start.” Rory sighed in exasperation. “But, Harry really does have more than enough reason to be acting out. 

“But the general gist is that at least as far as Harry’s concerned, he’s been losing a lot of people that he cares deeply about.” Rory squirted a spray cleaner across the kitchen island, and wiped the formica down with a sponge. Stepping around John, Rory wiped at the island again with a paper towel to remove any excess cleaner. Rory went on telling Amy, and subsequently John, what Harry had been telling him outside… about how Rose had been lost, and how helpless Harry had felt over not being able to even attempt to save her, having already seen first hand twice what happens when such events are mucked about with. The first being when Rose tried to save her own father, and the second when River, his mum, tried to not murder his dad. 

It wasn’t just Rose’s fate that got to Harry. 

It was also seeing his godfather, Sirius Black, murdered… the battle in the ministry that followed, and being possessed. A war was breaking out and whether he liked it or not, Harry was a key figure. 

"So, yeah, I'd say that Harry taking a swing at a post in frustration is a good sight better than the alternative of him keeping all that bottled up."


	20. The Bat-Bogey Hex

**Chapter 20.**

“So, what was up with the ghost deer?” Dean was sprawled across the lower bunk as he watched the movie being projected from Harry’s _pet_ fake-owl. In the bunk above him, Sam made a noise of disapproval. 

On the floor, Harry had spread the cushions from the living room sofa. The sofa out there could turn into a bed, so it wasn’t as though John Winchester needed these particular cushions. A little ingenuity, and Harry had a make-shift bed. It wasn’t the comfiest thing, but he’d make do for the night. “My patronus?” 

“Whatever. What’s up with it?” Dean pressed. “Of all the things for a witch to summon, why a ghost deer.” 

“Dean, seriously, knock off the _witch_ thing… I’m a wizard, and technically, I didn’t really summon it. It’s more like, my magic took a form that can help me. Though, not everyone’s patronus manifests as a stag… one of my best mates patronus is a dog, and his sister’s is a horse. Normally it’s an animal that the caster has an affinity with. Then again, not everyone can muster up enough oomph to get the spell to turn corporal. Those usually turn out looking kind of smoke-ish, but even that’s somewhat useful.” Harry shrugged and sat up so he could look back at Dean. 

“You’ve got the hots for Bambi?” Dean was already smirking, and ducked when Harry chucked a pillow at his head. 

Leaning over the side of the top bunk, Sam’s eyes flickered back and forth between Harry, Dean and the movie where a racoon was saying something about needing some guy’s leg. “Fine. I’ll bite. How is it useful?” 

“It’s the only known spell that can take down Dementors and Lethifolds.” Harry sighed. It was obvious that movies were _not_ going to be enjoyed this night. Then again, first meeting, and having Sam and Dean actively asking questions and learning was good. “Dementors sort of look like the Ring-Wraiths from the Tolkien books, and are about as nasty. They suck out happy thoughts, throw their victim into depression, and force your worst memories up so that you’re trapped in _that_ moment. On really bad days, the Dementor will eat the soul of it’s target. 

“First time I saw a Dementor, it attacked me.” Another shrug, and Harry sat up a little straighter. “I passed out. Thankfully one of my Professors was there, and he saved my life… He also made me learn how to cast a Patronus. 

“As for Lethifolds? Never seen one. All I know is that they look like cloaks and eat people.” 

“So, just stay away from shady cloaks. Gotcha.” By now Dean was less sprawling, and more sitting on the edge of the bed; still smirking. 

Reaching over to the slumbering dog next to him, Harry carded his fingers through Bones’ fur, eliciting a quiet snuffle as the dog did it’s level best to keep sleeping despite the boys’ hushed conversation. 

\---------------------------------------- 

The next morning, leaving Sam still sleeping on the top bunk, Dean stumbled over what was left of Harry’s make-shift bed and out of the room where he found his way to the kitchen where he could smell breakfast being cooked. Oddly enough, his brain told him to appreciate getting access to a breakfast that wasn’t cold cereal twice in a row. 

In the kitchen Dean saw Harry and Rory chasing Amy out and over to a seat with Rory claiming that they could handle cooking. Though, it looked like given half a chance, Harry would chase Rory out too... John was standing off to the side, watching to make sure nothing untoward came into contact with their food. Bones, having vacated the bedroom with Harry that morning, by now had been chased outside, seeing as he’d apparently been all too interested in what was happening on the stove. 

“Honestly! I’ve been able to manage a fry-up by the time I was five… and that was with people _shouting_ at me.” Harry finally snapped, and with that, Rory was out as well. However, once Harry _saw_ Dean… “Dean, in here with me. You’re helping out and getting a quick cooking lesson.” 

When Sam emerged from the bedroom later in the morning, Harry and Dean were arguing, about what Sam never found out. But there it was, Dean called Harry a _witch_. The one thing that surprised Sam was when Harry swore to _Merlin_ … while informing John, that if Dean called him a _witch_ again, Harry was going to hit Dean with something called a bat-bogey hex. Less than ten minutes later, Dean couldn't resist the unspoken dare and as a consequence his sinuses were completely drained because all the mucus that was originally in them, was now flying out the window in the shape of a bat. 

Hands clasped to his face, Dean’s indignant yells were only vaguely muffled, and Harry was completely unapologetic. 

With all of the attention so tightly focused on Harry and Dean, it was little wonder that shots weren't fired at the front door when it was thrown open. Her hair a wild lion's mane, River Song swaggered into the cabin. A self assured smirk plastered across her features. "So, how's my boy?"


	21. The Chosen one?

“Mum!” Harry dashed from the kitchen to River Song, enveloping her in an enthusiastic hug and nearly throwing the two of them off balance. Behind them, Sam questioningly mouthed ‘mum’ at Amy and Rory, as if expecting a response. A few weeks back, a six year-old Harry hadn’t even known who River Song was, and _now_ he was identifying her as his mother?

“When two time-travelers marry, things tend to get complicated rather quickly.” Amy quickly explained. “It’s even worse when the happy couple keeps meeting out of order.” 

“It’s all a bit wibbly-wobbly… timey-wimey.” Harry all but beamed back, laughing, not yet bothering to relinquish his hold on his mum. 

With a smile, Rory shook his head at the happy display. “Really River? We get a sullen and moody Harry… you walk in, and he’s suddenly all sweetness and light. Normally it’s the parents that get the worst of their kids’ mood swings.” 

“Well.” Riversong pulled Harry into a headlock. Not truly resisting, Harry did manage a fairly pathetic sounding yelp. “Considering the parents in this case are a mad-man with a blue box and a psychopath… there’d better be at least one sane person in that family, because it sure as bloody hell isn’t me. 

“Speaking of family. Harry, you’ve a birthday coming up. I acquired a present for you. Should make visiting your little friends easier.” Releasing Harry, a small black box with a ribbon was handed over to the teen, then River waved Rory and Amy off. “Don’t worry, it’s not dangerous.” River paused another moment when it was evident that Amy, Rory and Harry didn’t seem all that convinced of what she was saying. “And I was a good girl, this time I didn’t slip micro-explosives into anyones drink to get Harry that little trinket. 

“Besides, you two need to get changed. I can’t exactly take you both back looking like that.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

Harry examined the box with more than a little trepidation. “You swear, whatever’s in here isn’t going to attack me?” 

“Oh hush. You’ll love it.” 

From Sam’s shoulder, Archie chittered nervously as Harry finally tugged at the ribbon and opened the box. “It’s… it’s… you got me a vortex manipulator?” Green eyes blinked owlishly as Harry looked from the box to River, then back again. Closing the box up again, the ribbon fell to the floor, Harry nervously shoved the box back into River Song's hands. “No. Sorry. No. Thank you, but no. 

“I can’t accept it. Me traveling with you, or dad is one thing… _maybe_ even Cass, or Idris sending me places, but wizards have _**laws**_ about time-travel, loads of them.” Harry took a few steps away, back towards where the Winchesters were around the kitchen island. “Really, sorry. An’ sorry that you went through so much trouble to locate another Vortex Manipulator…. But, bad things happen when wizards muck about with time.” 

River shifted her weight to one side, box in hand, she evaluated her son. “Really, one idiot witch back in the nineteenth century accidentally throws herself a few centuries unprotected through the vortex, and suddenly _your_ ministry passes a bunch of _stupid_ laws restricting time travel to a paltry five hours into the past instead of addressing the real issue. Then again, I guess that your dad and I should be _proud_ that you’re following such small-minded and archaic laws.” Her tone indicated that she was anything but. 

“Mum!” Harry snapped, in annoyance. “You know I’m trying to qualify for Auror training. I can’t exactly _pick_ and _choose_ which laws suit--” 

A laugh interrupted the wizard, River casually walked over and affectionately ran her fingers through the unruly dark locks. It was a mother’s touch. “Sweetness, your entire life is people telling you to not do something, and you rushing off to do it as quick as you can.” River leaned against the edge of the kitchen island and set the box down. “Your new minister… smart wizard. Be careful with him, Harry. You give him half a chance, and you’ll find yourself in a pretty new set of Auror’s robes before you even get out of school to just curry public favor. After all, you lot are getting scared and desperate. 

“They’ll splash the news across as many papers as possible. _The Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One… Wizardkind’s Saviour_ … has just become the _youngest_ Auror ever. Of course, they’ll want you to smile, wave, and nod sweetly like the good little figurehead they expect you to be. 

“And the photos. Oh the photos! You’ll have to stop trying to duck out of those. Something like this’ll definitely be front page news. You’ve already been on the front page… this time I bet it’ll be it’s own special edition. Reporters will want interviews--” 

The sound of Harry grabbing the box off the counter interrupted River’s amused tirade. “ **Fine.** I get it. I’m not _wearing_ it though.” Harry whistled, and his owl flew over from where it’d been making lovey-eyes at Sam. A panel on Archie’s back slid to the side with a touch, another green glowing screen appeared, a few taps here and there and Harry slipped the box into the back compartment of his pet. Screen dismissed, and panel back in place, Archie fluttered up to Harry’s shoulder and nibbled on the wizard’s ear. 

John sized up Harry for a few awkward moments, behind him, Sam and Dean exchanged worried glances over what might come out of their father’s mouth next. “So.” He started in a gruff tone. “Start explaining shit… What in the hell’s an Auror?”


	22. The Doctor lands.

**_Chapter 22._ **

With dusk rapidly approaching, Amy, Rory and River had been gone already for several hours. Before they’d left, both Amy and Rory had looked like they’d stepped straight out of the late nineteen-forties. Amy’s hair done up in full victory rolls, and matte lipstick coupled with a rounded toe heel. Rory had been the definition of dapper as he straightened his tie while simultaneously managing to remain only somewhat awkward in demeanor. 

Other than the dog and a few photos, the Ponds weren’t taking anything else back with them. 

Amy fussed over Harry, unhappy about him staying behind and alone. 

“Oh don’t worry about that. Harry won’t be left alone.” River stated with confidence and a knowing wink at John. “The Winchesters are here… Johnny is a good enough man that he won’t leave a kid on his own.” 

Nearly empty chip bag in his hand, and a chip halfway to his mouth, Harry sighed. His hand hovered in space. “Mum, would you quit handing me off to people that don’t know me yet?” 

“Hush. You’re up soon for your two week visit with the Dursleys. After everything, I think spending a little time cooling your heels with the Winchesters and _not_ actively using magic will do you a world of good.” Stealing Harry’s chip, River grinned before she ate it and turned her attention to John. “Consider keeping an eye on Harry a learning experience… and try not to let him get too battered when your boys decide to rough-house with him.” 

River activated her vortex manipulator before anyone could complain. With that, the Ponds were gone, along with the dog. 

That was hours ago, and the Doctor had yet to appear to pick up his son. Harry chalked it up to his dad rarely being on time. He was used to sometimes getting a bit lost in the shuffle. 

The day was for the most part not that far from what passed for normal for the Winchesters, at least the sort where they weren’t driving from one state to the next. With one notable exception, Harry. When Sam and Dean were sent outside to train, Harry shrugged and went with them. The fact that Harry quietly fell into following his orders, nearly as well as Dean, surprised John somewhat. 

Even though Harry was the older of the two, size wise, he and Dean were pretty evenly matched against each other. The look of sheer shock on Harry’s face the first time he managed to pin Dean bordered on being hilarious. After that with the odds slightly skewed in Harry’s favor, it was pretty much a toss-up over who would win. 

Once Harry started actively teaching, John had to stifle a snicker at the boys antics. Harry's final victory, amusing as it was, was when he was able to sprint away from the fray and managed to climb a tree. The little bastard was good, John had to give him that. 

More interesting was that Harry seemed to have absolutely no qualms about teaching Sam and Dean more efficient grappling holds, and the means by which to break out of them. At one point Harry mentioned that most of what he was showing them, _they_ had taught him when he was younger. Besides, as far as Harry could recall, this was the first time sparring where he’d been older than Dean. 

Dean jokingly complained that the sparring wasn't fair if Harry was using their own tricks against them. 

When the sun was high in the sky, Harry let John know he was going outside with his broom maintenance kit. The racing broom had taken one hell of a beating during the fight the previous night and Harry wanted to get it back into good working order as fast as possible. John ordered Dean to accompany Harry. Both boys strongly suspected it was so that John could properly yell at Sam for having run away, and they were right. 

\---------------------------------------- 

“And that's why I'm afraid of Christmas trees.” Harry finished saying while calmly continuing to work on trying to repair the broom. Sleeves rolled up, Dean finally saw the long scar that ran up Harry's right arm. 

Dean stared, a little unsure of how to react. Reaching over Dean grabbed Harry's wrist and turned it over, palm up. “Dude, what the hell?” 

Pulling his arm back, Harry tugged the sleeve into place, hiding the long scar. On Harry’s hands, the other set of scars remained conspicuous. “It’s not self-inflicted, in case that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“What’s not self-inflicted?” Eyes a little on the red and puffy side, presumably from sucking up tears, Sam climbed onto to the picnic table bench where Harry and Dean had been sitting. Several feet to the left was the Impala, still parked from last night, mud splashed across it’s sides from the frantic drive. “Those?” Sam pointed at the words carved into Harry’s hands. 

“Nah, not those.” Motioning to his own right arm, Dean made a slicing motion. “Harry’s got a--” 

“Excuse me, can we _not_ talk about my scars right now? Little self conscious ‘bout those.” Broom waxing cloth put down, Harry adjusted his glasses with a sigh. “I’ve tried getting rid of them, but nothing works because dark magic was involved in making them. The darker the magic, the more of a pain in the arse the scar is.” 

Sam thoughtfully looked at the lightning bolt shaped scar over Harry’s right eye. The rest of the scars had a slightly faded look to them, they were healing, but the lightning-bolt _still_ looked fresh. “So, whatever made that one," Sam touched his own brow, "must have been pretty dark?” 

Drumming his fingers against the table, Harry rolled his eyes, then sighed unaware of the silent audience they had behind them. “Killing curse. Wizard who gave me that scar, killed my family.” 

With another sigh, Harry leaned forward. “I was a year old.” He tapped the table for emphasis. “My father’s body was found on the landing. My mother died next to my crib, protecting me. 

“Before you even ask.” Harry pointed back and forth quickly between himself and Sam. “The _thing_ that went after Sam, and the wizard that targeted me? Even though they sound similar, they are completely different--” 

A hand came down on Harry's shoulder making the teen jump. “Inside, now.” John ordered, then pointed at his boys. “You two, stay put.” 

\---------------------------------------- 

Once the door closed behind Harry and their dad, both Sam and Dean were at the door. After a brief struggle, Dean was crouched at the keyhole and Sam belly down on the ground, both boys doing their best to listen in. Not that they were able to hear anything other than a weird buzzing sound after Harry cast another spell. 

Peeking through the window however was a different story. While they couldn't hear, Sam and Dean most certainly could see. 

The two Winchester boys watched Harry and their dad speaking. Over on the coffee table Dean could make out Harry's wand. Next to the wand sat Archie, preening plastic feathers. The conversation between Harry and John was heating up. Even without sound, Sam and Dean could see Harry physically back down, deferring authority to John. 

There was arm waving and more animated talking. Books, large and leather bound, were pulled from the owl’s back panel and flipped through. The titles on the books could just barely be made out, stuff like _Modern Magical History_ , _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , _Magical Theory_ , and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. Every so often the expression on John’s face told Sam and Dean that Harry was keeping information back. It was killing them not knowing what was being said, not knowing what Harry might know about the thing that killed their mother. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Storming out of the cabin, Harry threw open the door where Sam and Dean had tried listening at. The wand dumped into the owl’s back panel. Once released, Archie fluttered in the air around Harry's head before deciding to land by the flying broom. Stopping at the wood beam picnic table, Harry gathered the broom maintenance kit that had originally been a gift from Hermione so long ago. The kit went into the owl as well, the broom itself was too large to fit. John ordered Harry back into the cabin, after all, the teen had been quietly following orders up until now. 

“Harry.” John said, the order in his tone was implicit. The older hunter experimenting how far he could push his authority. It was a question of dominance. He could _feel_ Harry's magic buzzing electric in the air. 

Knuckles white in his grip on the broom, and for a moment it looked like Harry was thinking long and hard about flying off. Harry breathed deeply. In. Out. In. Out. The broom was held upright, it's bristles gently brushing against the gravel driveway as Harry calmed himself. “Sir.” Another breath. The magic settled. “I'm... okay… just a bit peckish. If you'll excuse me, I'll go make us all a late lunch.” 

Broom in hand, Harry was already headed back into the cabin. It wasn't exactly following John's orders, but it was close enough for the hunter to appreciate the difference. Harry ran a hand through his mussed hair, accidentally leaving it in worse shape than before. “Look, if you three want to go, I--” 

Inside the cabin lights dimmed, flickered and an impossible breeze picked up. Then came that low groaning, wheezing sound, the Tardis was landing. The Doctor had arrived. 

John turned in time to see the Tardis materialize along the cabin’s back wall. Across the top, the police sign lit, glowing brightly. A low thrum gently vibrated through the cabin. In moments Harry was by John's side… followed in short order by Sam and Dean. Harry grinned. 

The Tardis’s door rattled, there was a knock against the wall. Then a complaint regarding the apparent tiny size of the room. 

Harry's grin turned into a snicker. “Dad!” He called out with a laugh. “Turn her around, you're facing a wall!” 

The door clicked shut. Without all the previous pomp and circumstance, the Tardis vanished and reappeared, this time the door and Saint John's cross were visible. The first time any of the Winchesters had seen the Tardis, it was a faded almost weather beaten greyish-blue. Both the cross and sign had been mostly worn away. This time, the blue was fresh and signs were crisp. It looked bright and new. The door swung open. 

“Harry!” A young man with floppy hair, wearing suspenders and a bow tie stepped out into the cabin. It wasn't the Doctor that they'd met the night before. An expression of concern crept across the stranger’s face. Straightening the bow tie that didn't need straightening, the man pointed at the young wizard. “ _There_ you are! Really, how _many_ times have I told you **_not_** to wander off? I thought you were better behaved than that. Do you have any idea how long we've been looking for you?” Hands on lapels, the stranger gave Harry a completely non-threatening glare. 

“You, young man. Consider yourself grounded.” Hands flapped up as if to emphasize the point. “Ah HAH! That's right. Ice-cream for dessert every night this week, and when we pick up Dean for his seventeenth birthday, you'll let him know you're grounded and that's why you _can't_ skip the festivities.” 

“Dad, I didn't wander.” Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't bother saying anything about that not being how a grounding worked. “I’ve been with the Winchesters. 

“Mr. Winchester, Dean, Sam, you met my dad last night.” It seemed almost strange that Harry was introducing this stranger as his dad. Especially since the two men looked and behaved nothing alike. 

Dean gave Harry a skeptical glance, obviously remembering the previous threat of being jettisoned out to the moon by the previous Doctor. 

“ ** _WINCHESTERS!_** ” The Doctor exclaimed with more excitement than any adult should ever possess and happily latched onto John in an unexpected hug that consisted of miles of gangly uncoordinated limbs. Thankfully, John was released before anyone was murdered. “Ah, well. Harry was with you. Wonderful! We don't see you _nearly_ as often as we should… And I really mean that, from both my hearts. 

“Clara, see? Harry was with the Winchesters the whole time. No need to worry at all.” The Doctor commented back to a pretty brunette in a ridiculously short skirt that had followed him out of the Tardis. “Perfectly safe.” 

Harry sighed, and looked like any normal teen being embarrassed by family. “So,” the wizard started, “how long did it take dad to notice I was gone this time?” 

“About a week.” Clara replied. “He tried to say you were at school. Little hard for you to take class without your uniform, or any of your school kits.” 

By now the Doctor had tried to assure Dean that Harry wasn't grounded anymore, so there was no reason for Harry to NOT come along for his seventeenth birthday. “We should go camping! The lot of us.” The Doctor suddenly blurted out, the expression on his face broadcasted to all that he thought this was not just an incredible idea, but was about the best idea anyone could ever have had in the entirety of space and time. 

“Dad, no.” 

“Sitting around a campfire. John and I can have a few pints of sarsaparilla.” 

“I don't like camping.” Harry shook his head vehemently. “I _still_ remember the dinosaur incident. We were chased by velociraptors! Dad, _VELOCIRAPTORS!_ That's right up there with almost getting eaten by Acromantulas.” 

“It'll be fun!” 

“The Indian Space Agency **_shot_** Surface-to-Air missiles armed with nuclear warheads at us.” 

The conversation, if it could even be called that, devolved into two completely distinct conversations where _both_ the Doctor and Harry ignored what the other was saying. Harry's primary concern was about _not_ accidentally getting his friends killed. Going through time and space as they did, he had few enough as it was, and even less that could wrap their heads _around_ the complexities involved with time-travel. 

On the other side of the conversation, the Doctor was going on and on about camping fun and excitement. Also being cool, because camping was cool, and possibly getting a new fez. The Doctor and John could talk about cars. Especially since John Winchester had that lovely Impala and good old Bessie was tucked away inside the Tardis. Then again, seeing Riddell and Nefertiti again would be great. Clara asked for clarification, and the Doctor confirmed that Neffi _was_ indeed Egyptian Queen Nefertiti. He'd helped her out with a small locust problem. Harry pointed out that the locusts had been carnivorous. 

“So, Sam and Dean.” Clara crouched and gave the younger Winchester boys a warm inviting smile. The woman's upturned nose gave her an impish expression. Large almond eyes picked up a mischievous glint as that smile broadened into a grin. “I expected you two to be small, but you boys are adorably tiny!” 

From her jacket pocket appeared a slim silver rectangle, one side a glossy black, Clara’s smart-phone. “Harry, come along.” Clara ordered, effectively putting a stop to the previous _conversation_ , snagged the dark-haired wizard by the ear and started pulling Harry towards the cabin’s front door. Harry made a token complaint about being hungry. “Doctor, you too.” 

It was a bright beautiful day. Nothing was currently trying to kill them, there were no alien attacks in progress. A pointed look was shot at John when Clara stated that no spookies were about either. Hailing from 2014, 1992 was past enough for Clara, or so she claimed. They were going to enjoy it and there would be photos gosh darn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still hasn't been beta-read. So, if any mistakes slipped past... Sorry? Let me know and I'll fix it. <3
> 
> I giggled so hard writing parts of this chapter.
> 
> Next chapter is the Epilogue. Still need to go and write up the story that branched out when the Tardis fell on Dean. So, yep, the series itself will continue.


	23. Epilogue

_**Epilogue.**_

John Winchester had just pulled up the long driveway to Singer's Salvage Yard, the impala cut an impressive swath through the dust swirling in the wind. Closer to the porch, an even stronger breeze picked up and John could barely make out a light, slowly followed by an old wooden blue box coming into visibility, the Saint John's cross almost non-existent on the faded door panel. 

The blue box had a name. Tardis. Dean already had been _subjected_ to an involuntary trip in that thing. Then there was a suspenders wearing Doctor that flounced about, Clara tutting over his boys, a plastic owl and a teenage wizard that had decided it wanted to be friends with Sam and Dean. 

Even from the Impala, John could hear that distinctive wheezing, groan as the Tardis materialized on Bobby’s front porch. One hand on the wheel, John reached down and picked up his shotgun before motioning for Dean and Sam, despite their protests, to hunker down. After driving for well over a day, with varying rest stops, the Winchesters had just finished rolling in from Arizona. John wasn't in any mood for any more of this _Doctor_ bullshit. They’d only _just_ gotten back. 

The Tardis door swung open and a thin man wearing a brown and blue pin-striped suit leaned out with a bright grin on his face. Were those sideburns? This man looked nothing like either _Doctor_ that John had previously met. 

“Alons-y Winchesters!” 

That was it, John shot the Tardis. 

\---------------------------------------- 

“What?!” The Doctor instinctively ducked back behind the door, only to reappear seconds later. “You _SHOT_ my Tardis!?” The buckshot had embedded itself into the side of the blue box, miraculously causing no where near the amount of damage it should have. “Now why in the world would you go and do something like that?!” 

Still looking somewhat miffed but mostly annoyed, the Doctor stepped out and checked on the damage. Almost comically, he tried buffing the broken bits of wood away with his jacket sleeve. “ _Rude_ is what it is.” 

Inside the Tardis various voices could be heard, presumably from other passengers, several of which sounded relatively young, with some raised in alarm over the shooting. One of the voices specifically asked if they’d even managed to land in the right year. The Doctor straightened out the front of his suit jacket and swotted a few splinters off his cuff, not that any of this helped smooth the wrinkles out, then turned to speak with one of the people still inside the Tardis. “Harry, you sent those birthday invites out to your little friends, right?” 

“Dad. Of course I did.” Now it was Harry’s turn to poke his head into the doorway. Messy black hair, unnaturally bright green eyes, glasses, and a fresh looking lightning-bolt shaped scar above his right brow; it definitely was _a_ Harry Potter. This Harry wasn’t the young one from before, nor was he the older one. Instead, this particular Harry was somewhere in between, physically not much _larger_ than Sam. “I owled those on the last day of class. If they’re shooting at us, that means we landed on the _wrong_ day.” 

“Oh. Still. They shouldn’t be shooting. It’s very rude.” 

Bobby was now coming out of the house, shotgun in hand as well. It seemed like a great time for Harry to manhandle his dad _back_ into the Tardis before more shooting happened. “Dad, they’re americans. They shoot guns. It’s sort of their thing.” 

“Well, I don’t like it.” The Doctor stated with a tut. With that, the Tardis door swung shut with a solid sounding click and vanished as easily and as noisily as it had appeared.


End file.
